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all-that-tmnt-jazz · 3 years

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I thought of this idea and was curious if you’d be able to do head cannons on it because your writing is amazing— how would the turtles react to having a human S/O that can turn into a mutant whenever they please?

Ooh I like this one!!

Warnings: Swearing.

Incarnation: Bayverse

Extra Info: The mutant the reader can turn into will be different for each turtle- don’t worry, I’ll explain each one.

Leo:

So, your mutation never really came up in conversation

However, it only came up because you had (accidentally) been dragged into a fight with the Foot Clan

You and Leo had been on a date when Donnie had reported Foot Clan activity not far from your apartment

He tried to convince you to lock yourself inside, but you figured it would be a good time to reveal yourself

So, you managed to be dragged into the fight a few blocks away, joined by Raph, Donnie, and Mikey

You watch the boys struggle. You want to help, but you also want to wait for the perfect time

So you wait until you’re being cornered by four Foot Clan soldiers, and the brothers are busy

Perfect.

One of the Foot Clan soldiers tries to throw a small knife at you…

And you caught it.

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

You throw the knife back and hit the soldier

Using the distraction, you turn

The next time the soldiers look at you, wings have sprouted from your back, your eyes have gotten much larger, talons had grown from your fingertips and through your shoes, and your legs had gotten longer to a scary extent.

You are a half-human half-owl mutant.

“It’s showtime.”

You jumped off of the ground and immediately grabbed two of the three soldiers that had tried to attack you

You flew up above the city, not afraid to press your talons into their skin

You unashamedly flung the two Foot Clan soldiers into the Hudson, then watched them struggle as the current pulled them

You went back to the alleyway where the turtles were, watching from far above as they were continuing to fight the Foot Clan soldiers.

It was like they didn’t notice.

You dove down into the alley and pulled up at the last second, grabbing Foot Clan soldiers as you went.

You dropped them into the Hudson as well

You went back to the turtles, who had retreated to the rooftops to converse about what jus happened.

You were able to grab Leo and brought him many, many blocks away, and he was fighting the entire time

You put him down and landed in front of him- it was weird being taller than him for once…

You turned back, and he gasped.

“Y/N… That was… You?”

You nodded.

“I figured I should tell you at some point but it never came up in conversation.”

He just looked at you, unsure of what to think

He pulled you to his plastron and held you, then pulled your chin up gently

“You’re fucking amazing.”

Raph:

Raph always noticed you looking at him

Especially since oftentimes, you would be looking sad

You knew you had to tell him at some point, but it hurt your heart too much

You had gotten cursed and your lifespan became elongated

Also known as semi-immortal

And Raph was not

You’re body has been 18 for years, but you’re actually nearing your 30s

That was why you had been so against getting into a relationship

You denied him every time he asked you, until the day he turned 19- just to be sure

That was three years ago, and you started seeing signs that he wanted to propose

And you were proven right, one night at dinner

It was just you and him at the Lair- he had talked his brothers into leaving him behind while going on patrol this night

Things were going well, yes, but you knew the reason why he wanted to be alone with you

“Y/N, I’ve loved you for years. I want to be your for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me be in the rest of yours.”

You started crying.

He smiled, thinking they were happy tears

“Raph, I… I don’t know.”

His face dropped, but he nodded

“It’s okay, Darling. You aren’t ready, and I shouldn’t-”

“I’m not mortal, Raph.”

There was a long silence between you two

You tried to stop crying

“I’m semi-immortal, Raph. I… I got cursed years ago. I stop aging and will die eventually, just later than you because my life span will be longer… Much longer… Maybe even by centuries, I don’t know…”

He just stared at you, confused, and almost hurt

The only noise was your crying

You didn’t know what to do

Raph kneeled on the ground in front of you, all possible hurt gone from his face

“Y/N, how old are you really?”

“Um… 29. I’ve been physically 18 for-”

“11 years?” Raph asked you, shocked.

You could only nod.

“That’s why you kept saying no- it felt wrong to you.”

You nodded again.

He hugged you. You tensed, but soon relaxed into him when you realized he wouldn’t be letting go

“Is there anything you can control?”

“I… Just… Yeah.”

“May I ask what it is?”

You hiccupped- you had a bad feeling of where this was going.

“Age manipulation…”

“What?”

“Age manipulation. I can accelerate or reverse the age of organisms and non-living objects…”

You knew the lightbulb went off in his head the moment you said it

He let go of the hug, but remained holding your shoulders

“Raph, I know what your thinking, but no! It can backfire and you-”

“I don’t care-”

“You could forget memories, people, places. You could forget your brothers, even me!”

There’s another long silence

You see the light drain slowly from his eyes

You shrugged his hands from your shoulders and put your face in your hands

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have let it come this far…”

He hugged you again, pulling you off of your chair to put you in his lap

“You’re worth that risk, Y/N.”

“Raph, your brothers-”

“I can’t forget them- I have too many scars and too many memories to forget those assholes.”

You chuckled dryly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“It’s okay. You were scared… I know it’s easy to be scared when you have such a big secret to hide.”

You nodded against his plastron and snuggled as close as you could

“I love you, Raph,” you tell him. “I really do.”

“I love you forever.”

You smiled- genuinely.

“Then, yes.”

“Yes?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“To your proposal. I’m saying yes.”

He held you even tighter

Donnie:

Despite loving Donnie with your whole heart, it was hard to be around him while he was in his lab

He had so many thoughts running through his head, it was hard to keep track

So, you often spent your time in the kitchen, talking to you deceased mother

You possess telepathic powers, and you are also a necromancer

You can hear thoughts and speak to the dead after a freak accident you witnessed in your mother’s lab years ago

It was the accident that killed her, but you didn’t know that until your father told you to prepare for her funeral

That was five years before you met Donnie

You were 17 when you met him four years ago, and had been dating for three of them.

You had been able to control it when you were 17, but then when you met Donnie, you had to re-learn

You had never met someone who thinks so much, and so loudly

You can listen to the thoughts of his brothers, too, and you find Leo’s is the most entertaining

(You’ve never heard him physically swear, but his mind is like a sailor)

But Donnie’s is the one who overwhelms you.

“Y/N, you need to tell him,” you mother says to you. “I can tell he’s starting to feel bad- you keep leaving without explanation.”

“I know, Ma. I just-”

“Y/N, who are you talking to?”

You’re heart stopped for a moment. You slowly looked at the doorway, where Donnie loomed

He was totally confused

Thoughts ran through his head

Are they okay? Is something wrong? Maybe they’re just talking to themself. Yeah-

“You’re wrong.” you say to him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. I still heard what you were thinking.”

“I’m sorry- you heard what I was thinking?”

You glanced at your mother, who had moved to stand next to Donnie

She nodded before disappearing

“I possess telepathic powers, and I’m a necromancer. I was talking to my mom- about telling you, actually.”

Donnie looks at you, shocked

His thoughts were louder than ever and were moving faster than you had ever heard

You covered your ears and closed your eyes- like that would help

He noticed this, and realization

They way I think is like someone screaming in your ear as loud as possible?

He thinks, knowing you were listening

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, not moving

He approached you, but you didn’t see.

That’s why you leave the lab so suddenly sometimes? It gets overwhelming?

You nod.

He gently removes your hands from your ears and you finally look up at him

He smiles at you, almost guilty

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Don. You can’t help it.”

He takes you into his arms and holds you close

“Thank you for telling me, Y/N. Is there anything I can do?”

Mikey:

Okay, your mutation isn’t too spectacular

But it’s a mutation nonetheless

You were a test subject of the first recreation of mutagen that Shredder ordered Sacks and Stockman to make

But the Shredder and Sacks soon realized you wanted to rebel

Besides, your body was having different effects than they had hoped

So, they released you

And you went to the police

But did they believe you? No.

But a few years later, you saw Shredder fall. You saw Sacks get arrested.

Oh, now the NYPD listens

And when the man who “saved New York” was revealed, you immediately could tell he didn’t

“The Falcon” was a fake- you were surprised that everyone believe his story

Then two more years go by, and Shredder escapes prison, and then a “threat from the sky” tried to attack

But it was stopped- supposedly by “The Falcon” again

But this time, you knew it couldn’t have been him

A week after the incident, you saw a police escort heading toward Lower Manhattan

So, you followed.

Well, hitched a ride on the back of one of the trucks- which was easy in your mutant form

You hid when they stopped, then followed the path the officers made to a boat

In your mutant form, they let you onto the boat without question

Then, you saw the things that actually saved the city, proving your point

They were four turtle-human mutants- like yourself, but different animals. Obviously.

As the boat started to leave the docks, you approached the turtles, only you knowing that you shared their status as mutants

The one wearing an orange bandana immediately started cooing at you, picking you up off of the ground

“What a cute kitty… Leo, can we keep it?” he asked the turtle with the blue bandana

“We don’t know where it’s been, Mikey,” Leo had said.

So the one holding me is Mikey…

Mikey holds you the entire boat ride- and you don’t like to mention that you loved the way he pet you

Yup. you are a house cat. Specifically, a calico Turkish Angora

So, you followed Mikey off of the boat, and he kept smiling down at you as he walked

You soon realized you were at the Statue of Liberty

You saw that most- if not the entire police force of New York was gathered, as well as the Falcon, a woman from Channel Six named April, and some Ragamuffin Hockey Player-Turned-Police Officer

Then you saw Chief Vincent standing at a podium as she started speaking about the turtles who stood next to her

She thanked them for their bravery and service to this city and gave them Keys to the City

After a while of talking, she approached them to have a small group conversation for a moment

Then, she let them into the Statue of Liberty, and let them go into the statue’s torch

You followed them, of course

After the turtle’s celebration amongst themselves, you made your presence known by rubbing against Mikey’s leg

He squatted and greeted you, petting you

You soon backed away, though, and walked to the other side of the torch

You knew he followed, so, before he caught up, you turned into your human form

When he saw you, he screamed

The others immediately rushed over, and were shocked

“Hi. I’m the cat you were petting earlier,” you said- rather casually

“How? You’re a- person!” Donatello said- you had heard Chief Vincent say his name

“Yeah, I’m a person who got screwed over by Sacks and Stockman. I got mutated just before he got arrested.”

There was a long silence.

“Prove it,” Raphael demanded.

You turned into your mutant form and sat. You licked your paw, then looked up at Raphael, who had gone pale

All of them had gone pale, really, except Mikey

“Woah- you’re kinda like us, then?” Mikey asked.

You turned back and agreed.

“Awesome, dude!”

That was nearly five years ago now. Now, you and Mikey are dating, and have been for three and a half years

You never knew you’d meet your best friends because of the mutation you had wanted so badly to hate

#tmnt #tmnt headcanons #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt doantello #tmnt donnie #tmnt x reader #tmnt x mutant reader #tmnt april o'neil #tmnt casey jones #tmnt vernon fenwick #tmnt bayverse the falcon

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trashmancer · 3 years

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Again, been reading a lot recently, and here's some recent reads and my thoughts. (All very spoiler-free)

Johannes Cabal: The Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard

I'd heard about this series for a while, but had always kept putting off reading it, and finally I was in the mood for some comedic (yet dark) shenanigans--and a villain protagonist as charming as Johannes Cabal really hit me just right. I really enjoyed the first of this series and the introduction to this 1920's-ish universe similar-yet-different to our own that Howard's created. His writing is crisp and clever--and Johannes is a villain protagonist worth cheering for. He's duplicitous, arrogant, and cold, yet sharp-witted and competent enough to be engaging, and even though he's amoral (driven predominately with an "ends do justify the means" mentality) there are glimmers of a conscious buried in there.

The basic gist of the first book is that Johannes Cabal is a necromancer dead-set (ba-dum-sh) on thwarting the biggest plague affecting mankind: Death. As such, he's willing to go to extreme lengths to hone and perfect his necromantic abilities. In the pursuit of this knowledge, Cabal sold his soul to Satan, but he comes to realize he actually needs his soul for his necromancy to work more properly (apparently without a soul it gets very unpredictable). In order to win his soul back, he strikes a wager with Satan: he will accumulate 100 souls for Satan in return for his own. Satan, ever the fair player (not), gifts Cabal with an infernal carnival to help Cabal reach his goal within the year. Shenanigans ensue.

While I read some books in-between this one and the next in the series, I'll write about the other here--

Johannes Cabal: The Detective by Jonathan L. Howard

So clearly I enjoyed the first installment enough to keep going, and I am glad, because I enjoyed the second one even more than the first. It feels like Howard got more comfortable with the characters and world than before, and in this one he expands his universe with some made-up countries that are similar-to-yet-different than countries on our Earth. In this one, Cabal does less fantastic tricks, as he dons the role of investigator (there's been a murder--on an airship!), but the plot was very fun. I will say this is one of the first books in a long while to genuinely make my world-weary ass laugh out loud in public. Howard truly does know how to turn a phrase and comes off with some great witticisms.

Guns of the Dawn by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky has been on my radar for a while because I have had Children of Time on my reading list for what feels like an age (and I still haven't gotten around to reading it, but I will soon). To prime myself, I looked up other works by Tchaikovsky. This was around the time I was look for good "stand-alone" Adult Fantasy novels as well, so the two linked up and I had this on my TBR for a while and got around to finally cracking it open.

I really loved this book. If I could describe it in any way, it would be sort of like Pride & Prejudice if Elizabeth Bennet got drafted into a war. Seriously. That's how it reads--and Tchaikovsky made the allusions to Austen's work very clear. The setting is very English-inspired, and the time period mimics Napoleonic times. Definitely the first "Flintlock Fantasy" I've had the pleasure of reading.

The themes of the book are about the caustic nature of nationalism, the blurring of truth during war, and what is true patriotism in the face of falsehood and horror. Definitely my kind of questions--and I love watching characters thrown into completely unfamiliar environments. A genteel woman (Emily Marshwic) being tossed headfirst into grisly, mosquito-infested swamps armed with a musket? It's a fascinating journey she undergoes.

Plus the novel featured a romantic subplot that hits my enemies-to-lovers buttons hard. (It's not at all like one of those tired YA enemies-to-lovers stories, but something more grown-up and messy, which I approve of, because I love drama.) But this is more of a personal note. It's definitely not going to be for everyone.

Retribution Falls (Tales of the Ketty Jay #1) by Chris Wooding

After Johannes Cabal, I got into the mood for some steampunk, and I hadn't actually read much in the way of steampunk, so I looked up some recs and the Tales of the Ketty Jay series seemed to appear on a lot of lists for this kinda thing. The basic gist of this one is... imagine steampunk Firefly. That kinda gives you the whole vibe and feel. It's about a crew of disparate and colorful characters all running from something who meet on the ship the Ketty Jay and have to learn to work together to survive.

Overall, it was a fast-paced read (I read this 400 page sucker in a single day--while doing other stuff) and Wooding knows how to write action and interesting character interactions. The world had some glimmers of brilliance (the wizard analogs in their world--daemonist--were the most intriguing part), but otherwise it was very typical steampunk. I had no real quibbles with any of that (aside from the fact some of it read as very cliche and Wooding's inspirations seemed a little obvious--Fullmetal Alchemist and Firefly being the two big ones that kept hammering me over the head), but my main complaint was with the writing and treatment of female characters. First, there is only one main female character in the Ketty Jay's crew--Jez. I had no real issues with Jez's character or writing (in fact she's refreshing in some ways), but she's completely isolated from any other female characters (and is also the only crew member who isn't really allowed to be a complete screw up--she's somewhat sanitized, which, I guess the heroic women characters aren't allowed to be fuck ups like the men?). Second, the other predominate female characters, of whom there are only three, are mute/dehumanized (Bess), characterized as stupid and unhinged (Amalicia), and have rape-as-a-backstory-written-TERRIBLY (Trinica). All that said, as much as it was cringe, this was written in 2009, and I am sure Wooding has had some growth as a writer since then.

I liked this one enough to decide to check out the next in the series (even knowing the writing for the female characters leaves much to be desired).

Black Sun by Rebecca Roanhorse

A Fantasy taking place in an Americas-inspired world? Absolutely refreshing (and more please). The main gist of this one is that a cult sets out to resurrect a dead god (seriously that's the main plot crux) while political machinations are going on in the central city of this country where the resurrection is going to take place. As the novel progresses, it's like a countdown clock to game time. There's four POV characters we follow: Xiala (a Teek sea captain who is kind of an outcast from her native people and has a love for beautiful people), Serapio (the man who has been groomed since birth to be the vessel for the resurrected god, part of this process has included blinding him), Naranpa (the Sun Priest of the capital city who is trying to garner back control the priesthood has lost), and Okoa (who really doesn't even appear until way later into the book; he's been separated from his family to train to be a warrior). For the most part, I was primarily engaged (re: 90% engaged) with Xiala and Serapio's story. They were the most interesting characters, and the journey of them on the sea trying to get to the city before the ceremony was exciting and emotional. The political dealings in Naranpa's segments kind of bogged down the action--and I didn't feel anything for that. Overall though, definitely a thrilling read with a beautifully constructed world. If I had one big criticism, it's that it ended incredibly abruptly without any resolution. I knew going in this was a part of a greater whole, but I still felt the ends could've been knotted a little tighter. I'm left dangling! But I'll be sure to pick up the next one (if anything just to find out what happens to Xiala and Serapio).

Vicious by V.E. Schwab

As an unapologetic villainfucker, I had to read this one, right? It's about not just one, but two villains! How could I lose? And they're in an intense rivalry? Revenge? Betrayal? Superpowers? Gah! Be still my heart!

I'll say I enjoyed this book (fun characters, solid writing), but I didn't love it as much as I thought I would (I wish I could love yooouuuu!). Definitely worth a recommendation to anyone who loves villains and fast-paced narratives, but... there were a few things that tarnished what could've been sparkling. The biggest for me was the jumping around in the first half. For a length of time, the novel leaps between three different points of time, sometimes 2-3 pages at a time, and it was jarring (not confusing, mind you, but it was a jolt each time). I get it was done to create an air of mystique and intrigue, but it felt like I was getting dragged around by the ear. Along with this, the plot just seemed... very convenient? As various moments kept happening, it all felt too tidy and paint-by-numbers. The characters were certainly messy and fun (and I love messy and fun), but the action itself seemed to glide on well-oiled rails with no hiccups. This did lead to the magnetic pacing of the book (which I also read in a day), but it didn't do the drama any favors. Never once did it feel like the characters were caught with their pants down--and I think that's part of the point, but it kind of dampened the tension.

I liked it enough I am definitely going to check out the sequel Vengeful though. If anything I am reading for Sydney, Mitch, and Victor. I gotta know what happens to them!

Right now I am reading some fluffy fluff to cleanse my palette because I've been reading so much moodiness. I'm mid-way through the light and breezy Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater (and it's super cute so far) and then I am finally going to crack open Andy Weir's The Martian (because I have put off reading it for far too long).

#recent reads #book review #just jotting my thoughts down somewhere #seriously though i am itching to read the next johannes cabal but i gotta pace myself #i don't want to burn through those like i did murderbot lol

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kolbisneat · 3 years

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MONTHLY MEDIA: February 2021

Whoa I know it’s exactly 4 weeks but February just flew by! Here’s how I spent those chilly days.

……….FILM……….

Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar (2021) Silly and sincere and just...a lot of fun. There is so much happening at all times that you’re bound to enjoy at least half of it. Maybe 2/3rds. Mileage will vary but watch the teaser trailer. Does that look like a movie you’d enjoy? If “yes” then go watch it.

Freaky (2020) Fun! And a couple solid laughs. If you’ve seen Happy Death Day then it’s similar in tone but I admit I think I liked that better than this. It delivers on the premise but almost feels like it has a tiny fourth act that...doesn’t really fit. Not bad, overall.

The Kid Detective (2020) Highly recommend. A good dark comedy with a wild third act and overall just a good time at the movies. I’m not sure if a trailer gives too much away so just picture Adam Brody as a washed up kid detective trying to solve a murder case.

Logan Lucky (2017) Pretty solid! It kinda drags after the heist (oh yeah, it’s a heist film...love it) but other than that it’s really rather fun! Worth checking out.

……….TELEVISION……….

WandaVision (Episode 1.01 to 1.08) While it’s starting to slot into the overall Marvel formula, I really appreciate that the superhero stuff is dabbling in weirder stuff. Between the illusion scene in Spider-Man 2 to this, I’m really rather hopeful that the movies will get more colourful and wacky and ever closer to the aesthetics of Speed Racer (also go watch Speed Racer).

The Bachelor (Episode 25.05 to 25.08) What. A. Mess. I mean I of course follow all the drama outside of the series and it really feels like 1 step forward highlighting the 2 steps back happening in tandem. Sure, Matt is bland and I really just want more of the goofy stuff that they show at the end of the episode, but those complaints are overshadowed by a really irresponsible casting and production that brings in super problematic contestants. It’s a bummer. But I DO think I’m winning my fantasy league!

The Night Manager (Episode 1.01 to 1.04) Far less night managing than I expected, but what we ARE getting is a really solid spy mini series. Also I always think Tom Hiddleston is like...average to average-tall actor height (maybe 6 feet?) but he absolutely towers over most of the cast! It’s wild. Also a good show.

Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel (Episode 1.01 to 1.04) The first three episodes had me a little worried for how much they relied on youtubers and a community that feels...rather exploitative of a really tragic situation, but the end kinda redeems itself. I don’t think it holds them as accountable for the damage they’ve done and the problems they caused, but that’s just me.

……….READING……….

Magic for Liars by Sarah Gailey (Complete) As a character study, it’s really really great. I wish I hadn’t read focusing on the murder mystery component because that side is...fine. I was looking for clues and misdirects and it was too late when I’d realized that was not the type of book I was reading. I won’t spoil anything. Instead I’ll suggest it as a good book to check out if you want to read about a very human detective working in a world that is not her own. In that, i wholly recommend.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (Page 203 of 453) Gosh I’m loving this so far! The lead character is so fun to read and the whole premise (okay...1 necromancer and 1 swordsperson from 8 communities come together to sort out who will rule over them all in a techno gothic haunted mansion) is bonkers but grounded and it’s a really good time. There’s so much chemistry between each character and lots of skeleton minions so I really don’t know how else to sell this book.

House of X / Powers of X by Jonathan Hickman, Pepe Larraz, R.B. Silva, and Marte Gracia (Complete) Really great ideas and as I don’t read a lot of X-men, it feels like two things are crucial to every big story: conflict with humans and time travel/time jump stuff. When I finished reading it I admit I wondered “is that it?” as it really feels like an unfinished story...more like a setup to bigger things. Turns out that’s exactly what it is and now there are a million books to check out. So I don’t love that. I’d still recommend this and will likely go back to it, but just know that it leaves a lot of threads dangling.

Dragon Ball 3-in-1 Vol. 3 by Akira Toriyama (Complete) This is a series I’m rereading during the pandemic and a few things stand out: I love that you can see Goku aging in the comics, the Red Ribbon Army is blaaaaaaand (but the underwater cave stuff is fun), and I LOVE the old crone/fight the universal monsters storyline. So basically this volume is 50% fine and 50% fantastic.

……….AUDIO……….

Calypso by Harry Belafonte (1956) You know that viral video of the happy trotting dog? Well since then I’ve been listening to Harry Belafonte and...more hits than misses!

……….GAMING……….

Hades (Supergiant Games) Alright I’ve made it out of hell...3 times? Not enough to really share with any pride but I’m still knee-deep in this game. Fun and perfect for a few minutes or a couple hours and hot dang I love Greek mythology.

Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The adventurers have been doing some mining and are now on their way to exchange their haul for a fallen star! Also the longer recap is on Reddit and is full of spoilers and more TTRPG details.

And that’s it! See you in March.

#Monthly Media #Kolbisneat #Andrew kolb

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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Yet the Light Refused To Die

Whispers from the intersection between worlds are a strange thing. They are soft and enticing, yet alien, and quick to breed fear.

The fear of death.

The sun that mankind praises casts a long shadow. Most look to the bright light and the vibrant colors that it illuminates. And they turn their backs on the shadow, fearful of that which they cannot see. Like the air of a graveyard, and the dust that collects in abandoned places, such whispers are not death itself, but its quiet heralds.

Shouting and even thinking loudly works well enough to drown them out. To deny that creeping reminder of the inexorable cycle of life and death, the final destination of every mortal's road. The madness of life is filled with distractions, of fleeting moments that occupy human thought. As such, only rare individuals can hear whispers from beyond the grave. Among them, even fewer pause… and listen.

When most do hear the whispers, they question their sanity or close off their minds. Not so, a young girl aged merely fifteen winters. Magdalene heard those whispers and has always listened. Understood.

And sometimes, she even answered.

Connected to the essence of dust and shadow itself, death spoke only in those sibilant sighs.

Magdalene feared not death. Many she had known now gone, taken by age, disease, war, famine, and murder. From a young age on, the specters of death always haunted her.

So much so, that she never really questioned the strange or inexplicable. She never struggled to accept things that others would deny, even when only the implausible remained the alternative.

Where one might think they had displaced a trinket in an empty room that no other living soul had entered since, the girl already knew at a delicate age that something else had moved the trinket.

One year prior to the dire straits she now found herself in, a young man had threatened her life. With little understanding of such ephemeral forces as sorcery, she called upon the power of disembodied spirits that refused to move on. To help kill that man before he could kill her.

Not because she feared for her life. No, she had summoned those ghosts because she had feared that he would escape justice; the just desserts he should have faced for slaying so many before her. More importantly, because she felt guilty; she felt like his killings were her responsibility, as his obsession with her had led him to commit such atrocities.

As a wee girl, she had always found it confusing when others could not see those figures at which cats hissed, or hear their whispers where wind swept through cold and forgotten places. Sometimes, she would awaken, with blood lining her fingernails, and a shadow standing in the corner of her room, watching and looming.

Not all of them were evil. Not in the way most people meant it when they used that loaded word.

More than once, driven by a desire to punish the wicked and deserving, she had called upon the spirits of the lost. They always answered. As if they recognized and served anyone who could sense their presence—and pay them the proper amount of attention.

Undeterred by those chilling gasps that lingered like memories of lives lost, she would sometimes speak with them when not in the company of the living; when removed from the company of those who would question her sanity, if only they saw her speaking to empty corners and cold spots where common eyes could only perceive that dust and shadow.

She would ask them what they remembered.

Not all of them retained their memory. For some of them, the shreds of who they once were just made no sense; perhaps as misremembered identities bled into one another, leading to eternal confusion and endless, aimless wandering between the worlds.

Some of them got angry and blew out candles or slammed doors shut. One even cracked every mirror and window of a room after becoming enraged. Others bore dark obsession in their whispers, attempting to sway her with deception, hoping to merge with her and do unbelievable things if only they had a body once again.

Beyond death, they all shared one thing in common. All of them feared what lies beyond the thin veil between worlds. Though none of them ever answered:

Why?

Yes. Why, asked the necromancers of yore, were they so afraid of moving on?

A mystery that never concerned Magdalene. When it was finally her time to go there, she would find out herself. Exposure to death had inured her to the fears that it brought. She welcomed it, just like she did her best to warmly embrace the cold presence of the disembodied dead.

What curdled her blood now was something else entirely. A debilitating helplessness, spawned by her current predicament, and a crippling fear of failure.

More than that, though, Magdalene feared the absence of the whispers.

For the first time since she had noticed their presence, they were gone. Leaving only a deafening silence in their wake.

Rope chafed against her tied wrists, resting on the clothed tabletop in front of her. Her captors had made a mockery of setting the dinner table, haphazardly tossing cutlery and empty plates in front of them before going off to ransack Bennet mansion.

Her captors must have worked some sort of sorcery that she could no longer sense any phantoms. And likely, she feared, the things that dwelt in the intersection between worlds no longer heard her, either. Where her role model wielded sword and pistol to hunt and combat the evils of this world, Magdalene's communion with the spirits were her blade and bullet.

And as her frail body was weak, that absence rendered her more helpless and meeker than ever before.

Jenny Fisher's nostrils flared with a shuddering sigh. Her fellow captive—a thief and swindler, a grown woman she had met only this very day—sat to her left. Bound as she, mouth also crudely gagged with silk napkins from Lord Bennet's belongings.

Their eyes met.

Jenny's eyes glistened, wet and red, yet she had not succumbed to tears. Fear gripped her, perhaps, fears of fates worse than death, perhaps. A quiet despair, maybe. But no tears.

Their captors had left them alone. Not like there was much of anything they could do to get away with bound wrists and ankles and gagged thus.

The question of the absence occupied Magdalene most. A mystery that she wanted to solve. And its solution may yet prove key to their escape from this awful predicament. She would not leave Jenny Fisher alone or to any dread fate that may await her in the clutches of these scoundrels.

The whispers had told her that Jenny was important. The phantoms sometimes knew things that humans did not. Saw futures that had yet to unfold. Understanding why was never that interesting to Magdalene. Much more tantalizing was the lacking explanations as to why Jenny had a significant role to play in their conjoined fates. The spirits often would not—or could not—provide any conclusive answers.

Jenny's eyes now darted to and fro, the swindler's mind likely hatching one fruitless escape plan after another. Magdalene, on the other hand, harbored no hopes of escape. Not until she solved this mystery.

Boots thumped upstairs. The rogues searched, conversed, sometimes argued; always muffled through layers of carpet and floors and wallpaper and walls. Claws scraped against hardwood in Bennet's halls. Inhuman growls resounded from where those claws scratched and tore fabric, eerily twisting handles and opening doors with an intelligence that exceeded that of mere beasts.

Just like Magdalene conversed with spirits, the leader of these robbers consorted with unclean creatures. Fentin McLachlan, he had named himself. A name that sent chills running down Magdalene's spine, even just thinking about it.

Could he be her missing uncle? The one her mother had shied from ever speaking about after father's demise?

Did calling otherworldly powers simply run in their family's blood? More than anything, the prospect of damnation frightened Magdalene. She suspected dark things to be awaiting her at the end of her road, a balance for her meddling with these forces. And what might await one as this Fentin McLachlan, who summoned these awful creatures that manifested in flesh and blood, with bat wings and claws, and too many eyes, and slavering maws?

She had read of them in the book in Nora's cabin. Eerie sketches inked upon yellowed pages and documented in the occult writings of the Bestiarium Nox. As far as the long-dead authors were concerned, these things all shared a simple name.

Demons.

Jenny's breath shortened and she trained her eyes on the entrance to the opulent dining hall, past the chaos and disarray that the robbers had left in their hasty search.

Maggie followed her gaze. The thundering and thumping of boots neared. The men dragged something. Something that thudded against another something, cascading into something else—something ceramic, perhaps—shattering upon impact.

The three men entered. Two of them dragged the body of Lord Bennet. Blood stained the late lord's face, having flown from now emptied eye sockets. His corpse flopped against the end of the dinner table where they tossed him, breaking a wine glass under a lifeless arm smashing down.

Magdalene winced. The shrill sound of shattering rang almost as painfully as their blatant disregard for the dead.

Fentin grinned triumphantly, displaying a set of eerily white and perfect teeth. His eyes glinted with a fierce and cold air. Like staring into a shark's eyes.

He sauntered past the bound women, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, and a large wheel of cheese in the other. The buckled boots on his feet, baggy pants, and dirty shirts underneath his wet long coat, altogether lent him the air of a pirate. A strange sight, so far inland, and so close to King Michael III's castle.

The other two men dressed in similar attires. A cutlass clattered on the table as one of them took a seat across from Magdalene, leering at her and Jenny until he cocked his head back, and chugged several greedy gulps from a bottle of hard liquor.

The third man slammed down a stack of old tomes, causing some of the nearby plates to bounce under the impact. The top books slid from the stack, fanning out. They all looked old and the leatherbound cover on one of them featured strange symbols.

Magick symbols.

Blood from Bennet's gouged eye sockets and other lacerations upon his person slowly seeped into the tablecloth. A deep crimson blot grew at a snail's pace, creeping down the length of the table as the dead lord's lifeblood drenched it.

When Magdalene met gazes with Jenny again, she read a mixture of despair and defiance in the woman's eyes. Her nostrils flared again, with a snort of frustration. And fury.

The pirate captain poured himself a glass of wine. Then he carved some cheese from the wheel, using a vicious-looking knife from his belt. Boots thumped again, glass clinked—he swung his feet up onto the table as he slouched into what was likely once Lord Bennet's chair, holding the wine glass in one hand, and a hunk of cheese in the other.

He sampled the creamy treat and shot Magdalene a smirk as he chewed, studying the faces of their two living captives, sloshing the wine around in his glass before taking a thirsty swig.

One of the other men guffawed, grabbing their attention.

"We keepin' them alive for some pleasure before the business?" the guffawing man asked. He sounded different from the leader. Like he had grown up in the city of Crimsonport.

"Keep it in yer pants," replied the captain in his thick northern accent. "These ladies are a little bit too interestin' to give them the usual rough treatment. Besides, Mister Witts. I don't like to damage the product, especially not when they can earn us some good coin overseas. Ya don't think very far do ya? S'that why they used ta call ya Witless Witts?"

Magdalene almost expected a retort. Even an angry glare. But "Witless" Mister Witts' face contorted to reflect the mien of a beaten dog.

The chair creaked underneath the pirate captain's weight as he shifted. He pointed the cheese in his hand at Maggie and said, "This one especially. You're a very interesting little lady, aren't ya?"

Magdalene offered no response. She just met his gaze. Studied his features. Every gesture carried an air of constant calculation. Everything he said aimed to provoke reactions, allowing him to probe the depths of the people in front of him.

And not a single trace of mercy or goodness lurked behind the mask of his eerily familiar visage. This she sensed.

He washed down the cheese with another sip of wine, then growled, "Remove their gags, Mister Hoskins. It's time for the ladies to talk."

The third pirate, Hoskins, had never sat down. He had been hovering behind Jenny and Magdalene, leaning against a cupboard in wait. First, he removed the cloth from Maggie's mouth, then from Jenny. Maggie made no sound, nor did she put up any fight. She simply welcomed the cool air upon her gums.

Jenny also displayed no resistance, but she rolled her jaw to stave off the ache of having the napkin stuffed in there for so long.

"Please, sir," Jenny immediately rattled away. "I'm sure we can work something out. I'm sure we—"

She stopped. The shark-eyed captain shushed her, tapping his lips with a finger.

"I'll admit," he said. "I didn't deem you very interesting at first, but you are a bit of an enigma, Miss—"

"Lady Amelia Hanbury," Jenny Fisher lied, correcting him. She spoke with such confidence and authority that Magdalene intuited how long she had been using this identity as a mask in front of Lord Bennet.

He asked her, "You don't really know what Bennet was up to, eh?"

This must have caught her off-guard. The fast-talking thief remained silent.

In lieu of any answer, the pirate captain's mouth twitched. His lips curled into a devious smile, and he pointed to the stack of books that Hoskins had dumped onto the table.

"Member of a little occult society that calls 'emselves the 'God's Hand'. Bunch o' mystics and mountebanks that dabble in the secret arts, practicing in the shadow of the aristocracy wherever the inquisition can't cast their prying gaze."

Nobody interrupted him when he paused, savoring his ruminations as much as the expensive import wine lingering on his tongue.

"Mighty close to the king's castle, don't ya think?"

He chuckled and sniffed his wine.

Witless Witts leaned over the table, closer to Magdalene. His lips smacked as he chewed on jerky, which took longer than usual, partly owed to some of his missing teeth. He radiated utter contempt.

Magdalene spoke, "So you sought Lord Bennet's library, for secrets it holds. Secrets common folk do not comprehend." She meant to ask, but it rolled out in her monotone. She, too, studied Fentin's face for a reaction.

He smirked again. Pointed two fingers at her. Kept his eyes locked onto hers. There was something magnetic about his gaze. Something unnatural. It slowly peeled away layers of the world around her and froze her into place. Some form of wicked sorcery.

"See, Miss Hanbury. That lass sittin' next to ya—she's a bright one. Quick on the uptake."

"Please, Mister McLachlan, I am begging you," Jenny-not-Hanbury said. "If you tell us what you want, I promise I will help you as long as you don't harm the girl—"

"Name," he said.

"What?"

He had never taken his eyes off Magdalene.

"Your name. Names hold power. And power is what I take. Give me your name."

Ignoring her bondage, Jenny leaned over and hissed at her, "You don't have to answer hi—"

"Magdalene," Magdalene said. "Magdalene McLachlan."

His lips parted and the air about him shifted. He masked a stronger reaction from surfacing.

"Little Maggie," the syllables playfully rolled out. He clicked his tongue. "You prolly don't remember me, but I remember seein' you as a wee lass."

He held out a hand flat by his side, low. Never breaking eye contact. Never blinking.

Shark eyes.

"About yea tall, you were. I knew I remembered your big brown doe eyes. Color me surprised that my useless fuck of a brother's loins produced such a clever girl. But you're not looking too healthy. All skin and bones. What is that prick been feedin' ya?"

He licked his lips, took his feet off the table, and downed the remaining contents of his wine glass in one shot.

"Father is dead," she said. The sentiment flashed in her eyes, finally eliciting a more tangible reaction from him: his eyes widened, even if only subtly so.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny interrupted them. "I do not mean to interrupt this, uh, touching family reunion of yours, but I would like to stress that there is no need to keep us helpless women tied up like this. It's barbaric, and I swear—upon all that is holy—that—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about anything holy. I commune with powers from beyond this world," Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan dismissed her, casting a sidelong glance at Jenny.

Witless Witts stifled an awkward giggle. It died in his throat, but he could barely contain his excitement. Hoskins also audibly shifted his weight again.

The rest of the mansion had fallen deathly silent. But the demons—the creatures they had seen earlier—they still lurked, somewhere out there, just out of sight. But far from being out of Magdalene's mind.

"I will not beat around the bush," Jenny said.

Hoskins repeated the last word and chortled behind them.

"We are at your mercy, and I don't care whom I have to swear any oaths to, I only vow to do as you tell me, as long as that guarantees that Maggie and I are not harmed."

She sighed deeply. Her words carved through the air with expertise, timed just before anybody could respond again.

"I will be absolutely honest with you," she said. The lies came so naturally from her mouth and felt like silk brushing softly over skin. The way she spoke transformed a bit more by the end of every sentence.

A different accent emerged. It sounded more like it stemmed from the fog-strangled streets of Crimsonport's lower city wards, blended with foreigners and sporting a hint of the northern accent to match Fentin McLachlan's own. For a split second, Maggie wondered if this was Jenny's real manner of speaking.

"My real name is Marie Cook. I am nobody of grand standing, I am merely someone who was lookin' to make some quick coin off o' Lord Bennet."

She shot a nervous glance in the round, met by arched brows and befuddlement all around, then she flashed an uncannily confident smile before she continued to keep the ball rolling.

"You gents seem to be working somethin'. Somethin' lucrative. I can smell good game seven miles 'gainst the wind, and I know that Lord Bennet's riches can't be the end-all be-all of it, yeah? It's gotta be a bigger score awaitin' you lot here in the Hold, innit?"

Witless Witts guffawed again and slapped the table.

"She's a smart one too, eh cap'n? Yeah, woman. We are gettin' mighty close to the king's—"

"Shut your stupid fuckin' hole," Shark-Eyes growled at Witts. He then sneered at Jenny. "And you must think I am balmy on the crumpet, ya thievin' strumpet. Fuck off."

Witts shrugged and shuddered, growing nervous, then he chugged more liquor.

"I am not stupid, woman. I know you're anglin' for somethin'. Your kind always does. No, we have no use for you and yer yappin'."

"I am also adept at forgin' papers and paintin's, and—oh, even blowin' glass," Jenny quipped, rounded off with a smirk and a playful wink that projected a growing air confidence, which stood in stark contrast with how they had bound her to a chair like Maggie.

The dread captain's lips were wet with wine and oozed a deviousness as they curled into a smirk of his own.

"Where we are headed, what we are doin'—you'd need a much stronger stomach than I fathom you've got, Miss Cook. If that's even your real name. You'd need to be willin' to pact with powers beyond ken. And I don't particularly sense a familiarity with the preternatural on you. How long have ya been here in Bennet's home, oblivious to the treasures he and his ilk are sittin' on?"

"I don't know, but I know enough to know that you are far more clever than you let on. You are far more educated than a man of your station ought to normally be. You are a man who defies conventions, and I am a woman who maneuvers outside of 'em."

The pirate captain awaited more.

He replied, "Unless you're willin' to sell your soul to strange powers, to commune with things from other worlds, Miss Cook, then I have no fuckin' use for ya."

Maggie's attention bounced back and forth between them, like watching a duel of wits. Jenny narrowed her eyes at Fentin.

"Aren't ya afraid of the wrath of God, toyin' with forces o' the devil like that?"

Another smirk from Shark-Eyes. Never blinking.

"In truth, there are no gods nor devils in this world. Those are words that small-minded men have used to make sense of things that resist definition."

A sweeping gesture between Witts and Hoskins segued to his next speech, "These fearless men here are willin' to do what it takes to grasp and embrace such power. They are not blinded by crusty old traditions."

"Hear hear," Witts said, raising his bottle in a crude toast.

"Which takes me to the most interestin' person sittin' at this very here table," Shark-Eyes concluded. Locking eyes with Maggie again. "My dear wee niece, hell forbid I would have expected to ever meet ya again, but here we are. And I want to know what you know. Where ya learned your sorcery from. You summoned a fuckin' psychopomp. I know some necromancy, but that shite is unheard of. Ripped ten sturdy men to pieces without so much as a fuckin' warnin'. If I hadn't had some sigil to deal with our fanged friends gettin' unruly, we would have had an even more serious problem on our hands."

Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Stayed calm. Nora had taught her to stay calm in the face of monsters. They always fed upon fear. No need to feed them. No need to lend them power.

"No need to share," she said. "You will kill me anyway—just sooner, if I tell you."

Fentin glowered at her. Struggled to conceal another sneer.

"I had a look at your bags, lass. Found some interestin' reagents in there. Satchels of dust, I'm guessin' from gravestone and bones and pig iron? No writin'. How long have you been practicing? You're so bloody young."

Maggie clenched her lips shut. They formed a thin white line upon her already pale face. Jenny's gaze burnt upon her, but she maintained eye contact with her evil uncle.

"Can't be too long that you're at it. I suspect you're a little bit more intuitive, aren't ya? Wouldn't be a surprise, it's gotta run in the family," he said.

Feeding the sinking feeling in Maggie's stomach, he might deduce more as time went on, even if she stayed silent.

"You and I are not that different, lass. People like us are like doorways. We are vessels for the darkness, as it slowly makes its way into this world. Takes root and grows. Now is the age of darkness, Maggie. The age for it to engulf the world—and transfigure it."

His gaze.

His gaze was truly paralyzing. Rooted in magick. Some power he worked; some demonic power, it suffused his gaze. Could he read surface thoughts? Could he corrupt minds and control weak minds? She dreaded all the possibilities.

"Things like vampyria, wolf-men, fiendish abominations—all real, as you well know if you're workin' necromancy. You should embrace it if you do have that preternatural awareness that so many people lack. Not resist."

Jenny scoffed. She interrupted him, earning a fiery glare from Shark-Eyes. "I know what I saw. Those—things. They were quite real, and if you had told me about 'em just a few days prior, I woulda laughed at ya and said you were out o' your bloody mind. But how much of this is superstition, how much is real?"

Everybody stared at the swindling thief. The confidence in her countenance crumbled.

"What?"

Shark-Eyes bared his teeth again in a hideous, wicked grin.

"All of it, woman. All of it. You're in the presence of experts, folk who have sliced through the shite of obliviousness with blades of knowin'."

Ignoring her again, he said to Maggie, "You and I could accomplish great things. You must hear whispers."

A shiver shook her spine and blood ran cold in her veins. Colder than Bennet's blood, still soaking the tablecloth beside them.

"I, too, hear whispers. They are probably different from the ones you heed. The ones you hear, they come from a place where our kind goes to rot and sleep forever."

Shark-Eyes lost his cool in that moment. The fervor gripped him; droplets of spittle sprayed from his mouth as he whipped himself up into a fevered frenzy with his own speech. He pointed to the ceiling, but all people present knew that he pointed to the stars.

"They are the opposite. The ones I hear, they come from a place between the celestial bodies in the heavens. They are not remembered by the livin', they are the forgotten ones. They have slept long enough, and they stir in their slumber. They ready to awaken. And we can be the heralds of the new age. God-kings that erect our own, new empires on top o' the ruins of an already forsaken world. Have you not felt how the nights grow longer each year? The winters colder? The fog thicker?"

The hairs upon Maggie's nape bristled. She knew what he said was true. Or at the very least, it was one of the few things he genuinely believed in.

"Yes," Maggie said. Nodding slowly. "I admit, our connection to such forces is not that different. But you and I are very different people. We may share blood, and perhaps even madness. Yet I would never join you in your pursuit. I have friends who hunt your kind—"

"My kind? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Monster."

Uncle and niece glared at each other. Murder in both their eyes.

His voice quaked with cold, seething anger, "And what fuckin' friends? Where are they now?"

She kept silent.

The glass in his hand cracked under the growing pressure of his fist clenching around it. Jenny gasped, and even as much as she pretended to stay calm, Maggie shuddered when the glass exploded into a rain of brilliant shards and wine. Fentin slammed his palm onto the tabletop, leaving a red handprint, where blood and wine admixed.

He spat, "It's those fuckin' hunters from the city, isn't it? It's that Merry fuckin' bandit ponce, Johnn Von Brandt. Isn't it?"

Then, with another, more violent slap that caused all cutlery and plates and glasses to rattle, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I will kill 'em all!"

Jenny's nostrils flared again as she forced herself to display calm, and Maggie shared the same inner struggle.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny spoke up. Her voice trembled, likely more than she preferred to project. "I have a sudden and dire need to make use o' the restrooms. If you would be so kind to untie me now?"

He thrust out an index finger, pointing it at her face. Blood dripped from his hand.

"Aggressive mimicry, Miss Cook. I have sailed many seas and heard many tales of creatures strange and distant, from all around the world. I have heard of predators that pose as prey, of true wolves that don the sheep's wool and wait until the bigger wolf turns inattentive—then strikes."

"What?"

"I'm sayin' that you can soil your undergarments for all I care. Reckon I already told ya. I am not fuckin' stupid."

"Please, sir. I sense you are not that barbaric. Have one of your fuckin' men escort me, or both for all I care. Hell, I'll piss right in front of 'em, I swear. No funny business."

He began picking glass shards from his hand, not flinching even once. Displaying the same detached coldness that guised the fiery hot rage he had just displayed at his own mention of Johnn Von Brandt.

"Fine. You are right. I am no savage."

He smirked. Nodded at Hoskins.

The pirate standing behind Jenny stepped away from the wall and began working the knots to release her. He knelt to free her legs, then moved to release her hands from the simple bindings made of coarse rope.

"Thank you. Despite what you may be thinkin' right now, I believe we'll find a great way to cooperate in the future," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists as she rose.

She stifled a gasp as Hoskins forcefully grabbed her by the arm.

"Fuck off," Fentin said without looking up.

While Hoskins dragged Jenny out of the room, the captain continued plucking out piece by piece and dropping the bloodied little shards of glass onto the plate before him with soft little clinks.

Clink. Clink.

Several heartbeats after Jenny and Hoskins had left the dining room, and the muffled voices of them reached the chamber from a distance, Shark-Eyes said without looking up, "I have dabbled in necromancy myself, lass. I could learn a thing or two from ya. And you could learn a lot from me. We are not limited to crusty old traditions. We can walk as many roads as we please. How did you call upon a psychopomp, I wonder?"

Maggie squinted and refrained from admitting anything. Nor did she want to revisit the moments of desperation when she first called upon the messengers of death.

"The first necromancers spoke the language of the dead. And contrary to common misconception, they never commanded the dead directly. They bargained with 'em. Where man defies fear of death by embracing the illusion of life, the necromancers defy the illusion. They embrace their fears, and in doing so, understand."

Clink. Clink.

Maggie finally spoke up with a question of her own, "What have you done? Why can I not hear the whispers?"

Another cruel grin marked his face and rested there. He needed not even look up to instill dread upon Maggie in doing so, focused still on removing the last shards from his hand.

"Thorathoth. Zhaal," he hissed, maintaining that grin all the while.

Click. Scrape. Scratch. Click.

Things approached unseen, lurking in the corridors just outside the dining room. Witless Witts' face turned white as a sheet. Claws heralded the creatures nearing.

A set of sharp black talons slid around the corner of the doorway. A hideous head poked inside. Dozens of eyes, like those of an insect or a spider, stared empty into the chamber. The blood drained from Maggie's face as she saw herself reflected in those eyes—too many eyes—and not a shred of humanity, not an ounce of mercy in them.

As it prowled into the room, four bat-like wings furled closely around its lithe body, it made only few sounds. Even Witless Witts inhaled sharply, masking a gasp. Even the pirates in Shark-Eyes' company must have felt fear in the presence of these abominations.

Following the first, another crept inside, ducking through the doorway. Its two heads looked almost like pyramids, with no eyes to see but slavering maws. Its four equine legs stepped silently, and its claws rhythmically opened and closed, as if ready to slash necks and rend human flesh at the drop of a hat.

"I'm sure your moment of glory was born of desperation. My path was the same. I was willin' to sell my soul to survive in this dark world of man, this forsaken world. It is doomed, ya know? Whether we do anythin' about it or not. We can only choose to be the angels of its destruction and rebirth, or to perish alongside the rest of the apes. I chose to stand a cut above the rest of regular men. And they responded."

Clink. The last glass shard landed on the plate. Shark-Eyes folded his hands before him. His voice had fully calmed again.

"I believe not in God nor devil. The things here, the things I speak with—their whispers—I know they are not 'demons', but somethin' else entirely."

The creatures remained conspicuously silent.

Thumping. Footsteps neared. Witts arched a brow as they closed in on the dining room.

Hoskins shoved Jenny through the doorway. She stumbled, tripped, fell to the floor but caught herself. Looked up at the two creatures flanking the entrance as they studied her. One with too many eyes, the other somehow sensing her with no eyes whatsoever. Dark mucus dripped from its fangs and the lustful way it inhaled caused Maggie to shudder.

"The bitch was tryin' somethin' funny," Hoskins said.

"Funny what?" Shark-Eyes snarled.

Hoskins crouched down next to Jenny, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

"Talked me into closin' the door but a crack, then tried climbin' out the window. You are not as clever as ya think," he sneered into her ear. And with a wicked smile, looking up at Maggie to lock eyes with her. "And leavin' the girl to us, no less. What was it you were sayin', again?"

The creature with too many eyes hissed. Even though nothing about it looked even remotely serpentine, it emitted sounds like a rattlesnake. From where exactly on its horrendous form, Maggie could not discern.

"She might be cleverer yet than you think, ya dumb shit," Shark-Eyes said, tilting his head. The constant grins and smirks faded from his face, and he glowered at Hoskins with displeasure. "Zhaal here tells me that she set fire up there. And you are goin' to go right back up there and put it out now, aren't ya? Too many books in this fuckin' house that Bennet probably did not keep hidden in plain sight."

Everybody paused, frozen.

Eyes closed; Jenny smiled to herself. Maggie almost cracked a smile of her own.

"Go," Fentin growled at Hoskins.

His underling scrambled off.

The pirate captain sighed and nodded his head at the door, shooting Witts a glance.

"You too, help him. Prove to me you aren't as witless as the name, Witts. Earn your keep and earn that power ye've been promised."

Witts nodded slowly, then with more zest. He quickly got up and stormed out of the room. Leaving Jenny and Maggie alone with Shark-Eyes and the two demons.

Bound as her hands were in front of her, they allowed Maggie still to fold her hands. Like the legs of a spider, her thin fingers interlocked and clasped.

Like praying hands before her.

She focused and released the powers she had gathered in weeks past. Spells she had studied and meditated over for countless, sleepless hours, to the point of exhaustion. Unleashing forces that would fan the flames and feed them with pure essence.

Her own essence.

Maggie spoke, "Tell me, uncle dearest. You know as well as I that our kind can make fire—or make it grow. But do you know of any way for magick to put it out?"

She narrowed her eyes and could not help but smile at him like a cat. Like a cat playing with its food.

His face fell through various stages of frowning until it turned into a hideous grimace, contorting with boiling rage.

Maggie said, "Even if I cannot hear the whispers, I can still wield other forms of thaumaturgy."

"We truly are of the same blood," he snapped. "Are we not?"

The smile already gone, embracing the darkness she harbored in her heart, Maggie said, "Touched by shadow, and touching it." And in a whisper, "Always."

Shouts echoed from elsewhere in the mansion. Hoskins and Witts struggled to quench the growing fire. Jenny had started it, but Maggie's spell had rendered it unstoppable.

She almost jumped up in her chair—Fentin slammed the table with his bloodied fist, leaving another vermillion print. He thrust out another finger at her. Swallowed a remark.

The chair behind him went flying away as he flew into a rage, storming out of the dining room. His footsteps thudded, heavy with fury. He growled at the two demons.

"Watch them. If they run—kill 'em."

Maggie's chin crinkled. She refused to let him get away with this.

Undeterred by the looming threat, Jenny made her way to Maggie and started untying her.

The creatures did not leap. They started inching, creeping closer.

"I will distract them, and you make a run for it," Jenny whispered, so faint that a mouse would have sounded louder, so close that Maggie felt her breath upon her skin more than she heard her.

Her dainty and dexterous fingers trembled as they swiftly untied the knots binding Maggie's hands together—and froze in place.

"We hear you," said Zhaal. Its mouth did not move, but its voice sliced through the air, calm and menacing.

"We understand you," said Thorathoth. It had no eyes to watch, but Maggie felt watched by it.

Jenny started slipping the ropes out of the knots even faster. Clearly not her first time working with rope, but Maggie perished the thought.

The creatures crept closer, four clawed feet each that touched the ground and emitted only subtle little clicks and scraping sounds, drowned out by the rising cacophony outside, caused by three men struggling to put out a raging fire that now threatened to devour Bennet's mansion—and all his precious occult books.

"He is right, you know," said Zhaal. Its many eyes never blinked, like Fentin's. Cold, dark red. Evil.

"We are not so different," said Thorathoth. Its claws cut through the tablecloth as it took the long way round.

Maggie had no time to register the sensation of finally being released from her bonds. Jenny rose to her side and hugged the girl close to herself. More to comfort herself than protect her, probably, but a hint of selflessness hid beneath that cloak of self-preservation. The woman's head whipped back and forth, trying to keep eyes on both the creatures as they encircled them.

"The one you call God does not love you," said Zhaal.

Said Thorathoth, "He has abandoned you. Forsaken your world. But we—"

"We love you," whispered Zhaal.

"We love your world," breathed Thorathoth.

Maggie began whispering.

Incantations.

The occult words spilled out of her mouth. Jenny looked at her with growing dread.

Maggie knew the risks. If this went wrong, she would draw something far worse than these creatures into her world. Something ancient. Something beyond good and evil, something that could swallow thousands of souls in an instant and with little hesitation to annihilate another world in its wake.

But the monsters crept closer. And the whispers—they had told her that this Jenny was important. Even in their absence, she deigned to heed their warnings. Follow their prophetic call.

"We are but shadows of our true selves, stirring in our slumber," said Zhaal, having crept so close that the monster could pounce.

Its claws dug into the floor, like daggers piercing thick oriental carpets with ease and boring into the wooden boards underneath.

"We love your world so much, we wish to fully awaken in it," said Thorathoth, sounding raspier.

Hungrier.

The closer it got, the taller it looked. The greater the shadows it cast. As if it grew with each step, now towering over Jenny and Maggie.

"A valiant effort to banish us," said Zhaal.

"But we are not your enemy," said Thorathoth.

Their claws spread, poised to strike. Ready to slaughter.

"We are your salvation," said Zhaal.

The maws of its two heads opened wide, with spittle dripping from long, sharp fangs.

"We are the future," whispered Thorathoth.

"Inevitable," hissed both.

Inhuman, deafening shrieks left a ringing in Maggie's ears as both monstrosities lunged at them, then retreated several steps, hissing and snarling like feral beasts. The creatures reeled, as if having struck an invisible barrier.

All pretenses of playing nicely had dropped. The slavering beasts now growled and roared, staying just close enough that they could kill as soon as Maggie's spell even so much as waned.

She glowed. With an otherworldly light. Some would have called it a halo, but all definitions are cheap in the realm of the incomprehensible. Maggie could see her bright emanations in the reflections upon Zhaal's many horrid eyes.

"Stay close to me," she murmured, voice trembling.

She felt weak. It ate at away her very being. It taxed her so much. But it worked.

For now.

Jenny gripped the girl with great force, bracing her and keeping her from stumbling even as Maggie's knees buckled.

"Move," Maggie said. Then she shrieked at Zhaal, "Move!"

Jenny took the cue, stepping forward with Maggie, clutching the girl close to her bosom as they advanced. The creature retreated by the same measure. Defiant of abandoning its master's orders, but incapable of piercing that barrier, no matter how sharp its claws, no matter how deep it could cut into human flesh.

Jenny shuddered as Maggie uttered more words of power. They spilled forth from the girl's mouth—like pure instinct given sound. She did not even understand them, serving only as a conduit for something else.

The alien words stopped flowing from her mouth, followed by another shout, "Move!"

Jenny advanced with her, craning her neck to look behind them as Thorathoth followed, the two demonic predators staying as close as they could in defiance of whatever force kept them at bay.

The woman holding Maggie gritted her teeth and drew upon her final reserves of courage. Maggie felt it shining brightly, like a bonfire suddenly set ablaze. The light about her matched its incandescence.

They advanced more steps, and Zhaal shrieked again. Furiously.

Pained. It retreated more than an equal number of steps, suffering terrible agony. Its gnarled and blackened skin sizzled like drops of vitriolic acid landing on wood. The creature's form cringed, rearing back more and more and eventually—reluctantly—allowing them to pass.

The two backed out of the dining room, facing the two demons. The creatures followed every step. Both burned with malice.

"Whether or not you join us, we shall awaken," Zhaal snarled.

"Whether or not you live or perish, we shall outlast," Thorathoth growled.

"We shall rise," they hissed in unison.

Though fear still wracked her visage, Jenny barked at the creatures, "Fuck off!"

She backed away further with Maggie, cautious step by incredulous step, shoving the girl behind her but still holding her close, wary that the demons might tear them to shreds at any given moment. She understood not how any of this magick worked, acting purely on instinct.

Maggie clasped her hands together. Like praying hands. She had long stopped praying to the one the church called God, but now, more than ever, at the end of her wit, and possibly the end of their luck, they needed a miracle.

She needed the strength to work one last spell.

To break whatever kept the whispers at bay. The whispers—their only hope of egress from these monsters. And from the raging fire. The biting sting of smoke began to creep through the corridors, as Bennet mansion turned into a living hell, populated with monsters to match.

To escape from Shark-Eyes and his smoldering wrath.

"Every door your kind opens," said Zhaal, prowling after them like a wildcat.

"Every path your people pave," said Thorathoth, spreading its arms as if welcoming them for a deadly embrace.

"We come closer to our awakening," they said in unison.

And with that, the miracle happened. Coming from the most unlikely place. The creatures lent her the insight she needed.

Maggie imagined a corridor. A narrow, meandering hole. A place of fog and living darkness. Where the whispers reigned. Where the spirits swirled like mists. A place where the veil was weakest. A bridge between all worlds that ever were, and all worlds that ever would be.

Like these demons somehow entered the human world, so did the spirits somehow. And now, she needed to use that same road to escape.

"There," Maggie gasped.

She unclasped her hands and tugged at Jenny's arm. Pointed to a nearby door.

Jenny must have recognized it, confused over how such a useless room may grant them escape. But she trusted Maggie's directions, left with no other options in the face of such deadly horrors.

The woman ripped the door to the kitchen open but froze upon seeing what lay beyond it.

Went slack jawed.

There was no kitchen there, but a yawning darkness. A narrow corridor, roughly hewn into stone. Mists roiled in a deep and infinite, coiling passageway. Inhuman shrieks of spirits reached them from deep within.

And whispers.

The hair on Maggie's nape bristled once more. Not with fear, but an excited solace.

This—this was their salvation. A dark embrace that would grant them escape. Yet a pit of great peril itself.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, worried more about Jenny than herself.

"We must enter," she told the woman.

"What? No. What is that?"

"We must enter," Maggie sighed, growing weak, slumping against Jenny's grip.

Darkness encroached from all sides upon the field of her vision. A deep sleep threatened to overwhelm her. And she dreaded the thought of losing consciousness, of this spell of hers ending, and exposing them to the mercy of the claws and fangs of Zhaal and Thorathoth, the demons that still followed, only two steps away at bay. Or worse: to the mercy of Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan.

The swindler propped her up and groaned, "No! Alright. Fuck!"

Jenny clamped her eyes shut and plunged the two of them into the depths of that corridor.

Light engulfed them.

The demons refused to follow. Consciousness slipped further and further away from Maggie. The deeper Jenny carried her—eventually truly carrying the anemic girl in her surprisingly strong arms—the mists of this impossible corridor swallowed all sounds. Jenny's shoes created no echoes, as if she walked upon thin air.

And perhaps she did.

Even as the whispers gave Maggie comfort, the spirits here were anything but benevolent. The terror in Jenny's face justified, for if the spell ended prematurely, the entities here would claim them. Swallow them whole. Sever their ghosts from their bodies, making them disappear from their world in an instant, never to be seen again.

Only the light that shone from Maggie, mysterious, and bright, and warm, guided the way. Allowed Jenny to carry her deeper and deeper down the corridor.

A speck of light appeared at the end of this infinite and reality-defying hallway. Bennet's mansion had long disappeared behind them, molten into the pool of darkness, taking with it the dread pirate and his demons—Maggie glimpsed as much as she fought to keep her eyelids open.

Spirits all around them yearned to feast on their life force.

To drink their memories and fool themselves into thinking these were the lives they had lost, distorted through the confusion that grew with each passing moment in the intersection between worlds. More afraid than living mortals of the afterlife, whatever it truly was.

A place that bled outwards, seeping, and soaking the fabric of what humanity considered to be… reality. A growing wound.

Only the faerie light that shone from Maggie kept all these hungry, angry, confused spirits at bay.

Eventually, the girl fully slipped from consciousness, long before Jenny even reached the end of the corridor.

Yet the light refused to die.

—Submitted by Wratts

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curechocolattymilk · 3 years

Text

TES V OC Thingie

[Got tagged by @jessaryss ! ]

Pause your game! Wherever your OC is in their game currently, tell me about their story so far.

✧✧✧ General

Current Level: 56

Name: Jeer-Tei Perdes

Name Meaning: Literally got it from a name generator lol. But lore wise it was a name gifted to them in honor of an Argonian who served beside Tei’s mother during the Great War

Pronouns: They/Them

Age: Early 30s where they are story wise???

Race(s): Argonian

Place of Origin: Hammerfell

Pick A Theme Song For Them: oof that's tough... From a Crowded Wound or maybe even Firstwake? If you really played around w personal interpretation/the lyrics that is haha

✧✧✧ Locations

Where Did You Begin Their Game?: Argonian Assemblage, Windhelm (Alternative Start)

Where Are They Currently In Your Game?: Whiterun

What Are They Doing There?: Just finished attending a party held in their honor (Post Blood of Kings)

Homes?: Breezehome, Proudspire, Lakeview & Autmnwatch

# of Locations Discovered?: 274

Dungeons Cleared: 104

Misc. Quests Completed: 87

Favorite Areas and/or Locations: Falkreath / Lakewview Manor. Both areas are where Tei heads off to in order to collect their thoughts/feel some sense of calm.

✧✧✧ Main Quest

Are They Dragonborn / Do They Know It At This Point?: Yes & yes

How Do They Feel About Being Dragonborn: It's...complicated, being thrust into the role of savior by gods of the Cult, which in turn are followed by the folk who see you lesser than them. Tei already has a dislike towards the Divines, this doesn't really help lol

Main Quests Completed: 21

Where Are They In The Main Story Line: Alduin's dead, currently trying to ignore the Civil War as long as they can before the Empire forces its hand into forcing them to join their ranks

Dragon Souls Absorbed: In total overall? 147. The amount currently stored in Tei? 45

Words of Power Learned: 64

Shouts Mastered: 21

Favorite Shout: Firebreath / Dragonrend

✧✧✧ Combat

Most Used Weapon(s): Daedric war axe OR Dragonbone battle axe. Tei technically has both on them at all times during adventuring, alongside a shield, so which they used depends on the situation/which they grab fastest.

Combat Style: Two/One-handed tank. Main tactic is to rush in, cause as much damage/chaos as possible to shake up the opponent, & clean up what the ranged attackers of the party (usually Rumarin, Inigo and/or Lucien) weren't able to deal with.

Armor Type / Level In It: HEAVY ARMOR BABYYYYY (Level 100 + 35 extra points via enchantments)

# of Training Sessions: 99 in-game, lore wise its a lot of self-teaching/keeping their skills learned from Hammerfell sharp. Some of these are magic but lore-wise this doesn't happen cus Tei is not a magic user, save for shouts. I just did those in-game for exp OR so I can help Lucien raise his magic skills :'D

Who Taught Them?: In-game?? Fuuuck so many npcs. Lore-wise? They learned this from their schooling in Hammerfell, going off the canon-lore that it's p much expected for everyone to have a grasp on combat & weaponry! Though they did learn a few things from Kaidan & Anum-La.

Favorite Enemy Type: Dragons! Despite the fact Tei does not have the best magic resistance, it's one hell of a challenge they love to meet.

Least Favorite Enemy Type: Automatons, because of a bad experience with them as a child. Also Undead, because they were raised not to disturb them & it just feels so wrong having to fight them/go into tombs.

People Killed: 945

Animals Killed: 749 (Hunterborn makes hunting fun lol)

Undead Killed: 766

Automatons Killed: 105

Daedra Killed: 136

✧✧✧ Magic

Favorite School(s): None, actually. Destruction is okay though....they guess

Most Used Spell(s): Firebreath or Dragon Aspect. Tei doesn't consider shouts spells though. It's totally different guys shut up they ain't no smelly mage gods

Spells Learned: 9 in-game, mainly due to the spells you're kinda forced to learn for some quests/the ones you automatically know

Items Enchanted: 19 (Tei technically doesn't enchant, and wont next playthrough for sure I wont give in this time >:[ )

College of Winterhold Quests Completed: 8

Where Are They At In The Questline?: Main quest is done bcus i dont like seeing unfinished quests in my journal lmao. Tei's involvement is completely different from canon though in my take. Moreso was hired as a guard for the expedition & was, unwillingly, dragged into the rest of the mess. Is not offered the Archmage position, that went straight to Tolfdir.

Opinions on Magical Guilds (Arcane University, Winterhold, Psijics, Synod, Radiant Dark, etc.): As they get older, they tolerate the guild & magic users more n more, BUT, Tei grew up in an environment that frowns upon the practice of magic, & it shows. They mainly mistrust necromancers/illusionists & still hold onto that belief that reliance on magic, especially for combat, is a weakness.

Bold words for someone with shit magic resistance.

✧✧✧ Crime

Current Gold: 10,640

How Did They Acquire Their Gold?: Odd jobs, selling a lot of the items they made/harvested from smithing & hunting (jewelers are their go-to hirers bcus Tei is great at getting things like ivory), Dwemer ruin diving (they refuse to loot the tombs), also yknow....being part of the Dark Brotherhood helps

Largest Bounty On Their Head: 11,240

For...?: Unfortunately they did not stand down when they were being falsely accused of murder in Markarth. First time Tei called down dragons (Sahrotaar, specifically, Tei managed to get command of Miraak's dragons post-Dragonborn) to absolutely smite some fools.

Current Bounty: None! They're good at not getting caught/threatening and/or bribing guards. :)

Locks Picked: 15 i think?

Jail Time: 1, Cidhna Mine

Jail Escapes: 1, teamed up w the Forsworn lol

Murders: 28

Assaults: 307....In their defense people keep getting in their way during dragon attacks

Items Stolen: 37, most of them from the nobles of Windhelm

Thieves Guild Quests Completed: N/A (wont be doing this storyline unless i cant find a mod that'll let me get the shouts locked behind it)

Dark Brotherhood Quests Completed: 20

Where Are They At In Those Questlines?: DB is completed main arc wise!

✧✧✧ Relationships

Relationship Status: Married to two lovely fellas

Current Companions: atm? none

Housecarls: Lydia & Rayya

Friends (outside of party): Zora Fair-Child, Inigo, Lucien, Anum-La, Morndas, Aela the Huntress, Nazir, Babette, Scouts-Many-Marshes, Isobel, Madesi

Children: Khash, Chases-Starlight, Ram-Ku. (going of where Tei is now - Otero & Mei come around later on in Tei's story!)

Romantic Interest(s): Kaidan & Rumarin.

Sexual Orientation:

GAY

✧✧✧ Religion

Pantheon: Yokudan, with a hint of Hircine worship in there

Patron Deity(ies): From the Yokudan pantheon: Tei mainly views HoonDing as their main patron, but also prays to/pays respect to Satakal.

They are also Hircine's champion.

Daedric Quests Completed: 3 (Hircine, Vile, Dagon - the last Tei didn't really help, moreso pissed off)

Aedric Quests Completed: 1 if you count the whole Alduin thing I guess?

How Devout Are They?: Tei is rather devout, esp to their Yokudan patrons, praying or making offerings daily. They aren't the type to really push it in your face though, but have no issues answering questions one might have.

How Do They Feel About Talos Worship?: Deep down they acknowledge & admit trying to ban worship is terrible, but....Tei also lets their bias/experience with Windhelm, the Stormcloaks & especially Ulfric kinda cloud over this. If the Nords want their old ways so damn much, why fight for a divine from the Imperial Cult? Why not go back to the actual old ways? No, this isn't about worship, not to the men leading this so-called rebellion, they just needed something other than their racist bullshit to fool the common man into throwing their lives away for the nobles sitting comfortable in their thrones.

Also during their whole thing of getting into their role of dragonborn, they get a bonus 'fuck this dude actually' towards Talos, Ysmir, whatever the fuck he calls himself. (tldr; it sucks but good luck hearing Tei say that fully)

✧✧✧ Politics

Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?: Neither, ask them again they will punch you for the love of Ruptga they get asked that every time they enter Whiterun.

Stormcloaks or Imperials?: Also neither, Tei hates em both n think they can all choke. Unfortunately they were forced to join the latter due to, yknow, calling dragons & causing massive damage in Imperial territories during isolated fits of rage and the group being more aggressive in wanting something in return for "letting it slide"....oops

Opinion on the Thalmor?: Oh absolutely despises them, they loudly complained having to work with them during the CW & would go out their way to disrupt their plans/piss them off. Sneaking was an option they did not take during the Embassy quest, if it helps paint the picture.

Opinion Of Ulfric Stormcloak?: Tei doens't say they hate people often...but they sure as hell hate Ulfric. Again, their experience in Windhelm added to this heavily, how both the Dunmer & Argonians were treated like shit, with no help whatsoever from the Jarl or guards when the local Nords targeted them. It's still up in the air if I keep this for Tei's story, but I have it where they knew Chases-Starlight's parents, who were killed. When Tei went up & demanded justice/an investigation, only to be brushed off because it "wasn't a priority," it completely destroyed what little empathy or hope they had left for Windhelm as a whole.

Opinion of The Empire?: Cowards too weak to continue fighting back against the Thalmor, in their opinion, & holds these views they grew up with even when being strong-armed into aiding them. If anything they're at least attempting to use their influence to hint towards a rebellion against the Thalmor, but the Empire could also full-on dissolve & they could give less of a shit.

Civil War Quests Completed: 0

✧✧✧ Personal

How Are They Doing? Need Some Juice? A Nap? A Hug?: The whole event of Blood of Kings has fucked with their head, to say the least. It's the starting point of Tei's eventual spiral. So uh...yeah they're not sure how they're doing everything they knew about reality was kinda challenged & they don't rlly have anyone to talk to about it so its cool, its fine, its all good.

A nap is probably needed, not sure about a hug theough they're super flinchy rn

Days Past In Game: 196

Hours of Sleep: 846

Food Items Consumed: 1833

How Many Playthroughs Have You Done With This Character: Tei actually is an older character from the 360 days so uh...maybe 5 at most? This playthrough & their S:EC one coming up when the mod releases being the main ones focusing on their story

Overall How's Your Level Of Fun: Alright I would say! I just been stepping away from Skyrim more often lately to avoid burning out from it

Must Have Mods To Play This Character (for story or other reasons): Ordinator, Wintersun Faiths, Immersive Armors, Sarcastic Player Dialogue, 3DNPC, Inigo, Lucien Flavius, Kaidan 2, Khash the Argonian, Alternative Start, Leviathan Animations, Beast Race Body Paints, Beast HHBB, Apocalypse Magic, Deadly Dragons, Growl: Werewolf Overhaul, Pronouns, uhhh....idk what else without actually listing my current modlist lmao

----

And that's it for Tei! Anyone who wants to do this go on ahead!

#tes v #tes v skyrim #last dragonborn #ldb oc #jeerteiperdes #tes #skyrimblogging #oc meme #long post #character meme #finished this just in time for me to start registering for my online courses neato #also its almost 12am so if you notice any misgendering of tei (calling them he) lmk im tired haha

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inviouswriting · 3 years

Text

Lich’s Puppet AU

It goes without saying this one is going to be a bit darker.

Mentions - @snow-covered-moon ‘s Shuri and polyship with her.

Warnings: I won’t cut these ones because there are some themes here. Mostly forced to drink something, and paralysis, mind control, and body modifications.

Perhaps she was careless, she tends to think she can’t be harmed, yet she still has weaknesses. She is a spirit, and a spirit can still be lured under greater magic to be enslaved. She had thought she had great immunity, that nothing would control her the way Vanth did.

Yet she can’t remember the last time she couldn’t control herself. While conscious of everything she is doing. She knew better than to leave Vanth unchecked, the necromancy in Tam-Tara should have warned her of a presence. That the worse of her nightmares to come again was happening.

His magic still has deep roots within her, there will always be that stain in her as much as her right wing. Her entire body is on fire, it feels like acid slowly eating away at her, the flames of the undead were something she hated. They burned the very soul and scarred it. Her eyes and hair matched the form Vanth wanted.

Skin almost greenish to her brown, lime green eyes and white hair. She isn’t even sure how she was snared. All she remembered was going on another mission for the scions. To check a tower in Coerthas, she could get close without alerting others. Or so she thought.

She had been chased down by a lunar Garuda. She knew the primal was fast, but given the alterations, the lunar alone caught up to her in no time. Kivera looked away from in front of her, till she flew pass the threshold of a tower. She had never been inside them, she felt dread from being in vicinity. Like Vanth’s magic scared her years ago.

Inside she had seen Ixal trapped to the walls, being used to empower the lunar primal. She keeps her feet from the ground, seeing it as fleshy matter more than an actual ground. She likens it to one of Vanth’s creations. Every part of her screams to leave, but she couldn’t with her exit closed.

“What a surprise. Who would have thought you would be here.” Kivera freezes down to her spine, her feathers stand on end, bristling at the voice. She knows this voice, deep, hollow and raspy. It does the same thing regardless in chilling her to her soul.

“What are you doing here...” She keeps her hover even more for fear of what would happen if her feet connect with the ground. She had forgotten about Garuda, it seems the primal disappeared from her entirely, or was laying in wait. She was no longer her worry. What was, is the lich who she had thought she rendered deep in the pit she had made. The furthest deep of Tartarus that she had named it Agitazione, land of the unsuffering dead.

“Why are you so surprised, you knew you can’t kill me. Even with your awakening. Not even the power you command from above could do anything. I will always come back. It took a bit of time... you left me in ashes.” Kivera turns to see the being. Vanth. He had taken a form that allowed him to blend in with others. An older elezen, with graying hair. He looked like a holy man, but Kivera knew him as far from that. What he did was horrid to both heavens and underworld.

He enslaved the dead as puppets. He led the slaughter on hundreds if not thousands of women and men during the Salem trials, one that she remembers as her first cleanse to end an entire city. She couldn’t touch the souls after Vanth took over their minds. Thanatos had instructed her, nothing good comes from a necromancer, and they did not want the souls tainted by a lich. They could not rest, nor would they ever. They chose blood magic and a great taboo together. Raising the dead is an unforgiveable sin among the underworld, tied in with enslaving the spirits was something that she was specifically trained to take out without hesitation.

Vanth was the reason she had lost two dear to her. Divinity at first when she was human, then Damien. Kivera realizes how in over her head she is. Yet she knows her loved ones, and the allies she has gained would not be able to fight someone like him. Not yet, Kan-E-Senna could, she was blessed in holy and light.

Kivera was not either of those, and she could feel her nerves on fire the longer she is lingering. In her shock she fails to notice the fleshy tendrils that creep up seeking aether energy. Kivera being full of it. All the bits had to do was connect with skin and start leeching her. How lucky would Garlean be if they score her as an ally. A powerful destructive force would raze everything. Vanth knows this, he always knew of her location, she is still a creature of habit, she clings to those that show her love.

Kivera remembers herself, and looks down to see the floor moving, arcing up towards her feet. The ends resembling a swarm of worms, making the reaper feel sick at seeing them move like this. She moves higher, and it is there that Garuda shows herself slamming full force into Kivera from the side, sending her into the nearest wall.

Kivera is fast to rebound but the walls have that same fleshy material. When she connects many tendrils surge to coil around an arm. Kivera burns them off and kicks her feet on the wall to get away from the, rubbing the others off her arms as they break apart.

Vanth just stands back to watch, keeping his control on the matter around. The imprisoned ixal reach to grab Kivera whenever she was close. The reaper not having a place to stand or rest without something trying to snare her. It will take one careless mistake on her part. One moment of weakness. Something Vanth knows every being to have. He just had to figure out where she will land to think she is safe.

Kivera fights more with Garuda, sending bursts of fire, while Garuda sends wind. They scrap together, talons and claws ripping at feathers, Kivera burning wings and biting her. Garuda using her feet and claws to grasp her target. She snares Kivera and soon pins her to a wall.

Vanth sees his chance, and swarms the tendrils onto Kivera. Each touched with a bright lime flame. Kivera feels something she hasn’t felt in ages. Pain. Pure pain. The tendrils leech life while replacing with lich flames. The color in her skin greenish but stays brown, the black of her hair turns white, and her eyes that convey her emotions stays a pure bright lime color with a glow to them. She looked the same but altered in her appearance.

Kivera couldn’t scream with the claw around her neck keeping her still. All she could even think was sparing those she loves. She rends her connection to Shuri, Estinien, Divinity and any of the children. Scions, she will never forgive them for sending her on this mission.

Vanth claps and Garuda lets Kivera down, he tests something snapping his fingers for Kivera to raise her arms. She does, there is a look of horror to her eyes at being controlled. Vanth approaches her and lifts her head. The elezen face he had chosen gives a sneer at such a prize he obtained.

“There we are. What should have happened all those years ago. If only Damien was more compliant, you could have had both, him and this life.” Kivera only glares at him, her face the only thing she has control of. Garuda leaves disappearing now that the threat is over.

Vanth circles around Kivera keeping her standing straight, he notes her glaring. He needs her more compliant. Two ixals approach Kivera from behind and take an arm while Vanth gets her to kneel down. Ignoring the hissing under her breath. She doesn’t take her eyes off of Vanth, unsure of what he is planning to do. He fishes an elixir like bottle off a belt he has, one he has safeguarded for the rare occasion he captured Kivera.

Kivera tightens her mouth knowing the liquid is for her. It is black in color, and she has seen it work once. When he used it on a maid girl back in Salem. It is to control her, it erases the mind, leaving it blank. Kivera is prided in her strong mind, but even she won’t be able to do much if it is in her system. He brewed it specific for her. A catalyst potion.

“This will go smoother if you comply. Not like anyone is going to come save you from this. By the time they even get news of you missing, you are aware they’re use to you going off and doing your own thing. They also know how powerful you are. They wouldn’t think you would be overcome so easy. Yet you did put up quite a fight against Garuda. But it shows even a god slayer like you can still slip up against them.” Vanth raises Kivera’s head, and she attempts to bite him, he uses the opportunity to hook his thumb into her mouth to keep it open.

Quickly he presses the bottle already opened with a flick of the cork off. Kivera wants to turn her head but can’t from his control and the ixal. The liquid burns, like liquid fire in her body, searing from the inside out. With the bottle emptied and cast off to break somewhere. Vanth waits.

He kneels in front of her. He was always a tall man, he might have chosen a roegadyn for their height better. But they didn’t fit the elegance he still holds. And would have raised suspicions. He had been around since Thordan’s end, leading people to follow him from the outskirts of Coerthas, those that disapproved of Aymeric still to the day.

How easy it is to lure people with the idea he can change things back the old way. Even more when he came across Fandaniel, giving him an idea of how to snare Kivera. Earning an ally through the ascian if it meant she would be dealt with.

Kivera feels white hot through her head, like everything she thought and knew was disappearing. It hurt to think, and it pained her to swallow, she tasted that bitter potion and she wanted to drag her tongue across the dirt. Though the only thing available would have been the fleshy floor of the tower. That disgusted her more.

Her last thoughts were to her loved ones. Sending apologies through the links as she burns them, her last chance to make sure they are safe.

“I am sorry... for what I am about to do. I have no choice. Please know... that the being that you will face.. is not me. Kill her.” Her laments to Divinity, she relays the same to Estinien, then too to Shuri. She ends the link before she loses herself, severing them entirely. They will feel it, like a piece of them is ripped out. She can see Divinity collapsing into tears, and the confusion on Estinien and Shuri following Divinity.

Kivera has told them endlessly, that things that a lich touches must be destroyed. That includes. Herself. It means a new cycle of spirits to begin, more tragedies to unfold. Kivera wishes even more that she could have used her former abilities. She lets her last thoughts be of the loved ones.

When she opens her eyes again, she looks up to Vanth. Her voice hollow and echoes in the tower.

“I am at your command.” One final touch to her, a bone wyvern rests on her. A gift but also a symbiote parasite to keep her under his control. Vanth folds his arms.

“Good, I won’t have you attack yet. We need to wait a little bit per Fandaniel’s request for a better opportunity. Now come with me. We have much to do.”

#Lich puppet au #Kivera #shuri fontaye #vanth #original concepts

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tinydooms · 3 years

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Original Short Story: written in early 2016 while I was minding the doors at Handel and Hendrix in London (in my glamorous past life). Content Warnings: demons, assault, demonic sexual assault, murder.

The Death of Andromeda Ashton

Now darling, you know that there is a big empty house on this property, away up past the formal gardens; you can just see it from your window when the leaves are down from the trees. Ashton Manor is its name, so called because my ancestor, Joseph Ashton, built it centuries ago, when Queen Anne ruled this isle. A solid English manor house, with wings stuck on it during the reign of the Georges, built of grey stone and with hundreds of windows peering down at us like so many curious eyes. It is the country seat of the Ashton family and has been for almost three hundred years. But we do not live there. Not anymore.

I can see impatience in your face. I know all this, is what you’re thinking. Patience, dear one, for I am going to tell you why.

They were great collectors, the old Ashtons were, and as the years went on they filled the Hall with all manner of treasures, ancient books and paintings and sculptures from far off lands where strange gods were worshipped and men look nothing like you’d believe. Every generation of Ashtons contributed to the Collection, until one day, one of them brought home something monstrous.

The house is empty now, its windows stare unseeing; its treasures are locked up and guarded by an aging caretaker. All know that it is abandoned, most of its treasures still inside, though some were safely moved to London around the time Queen Victoria died. But never, in eighty years, has anyone broken in to steal anything. There are too many stories about the place. You’ve heard some of them, of course. The crying that can be heard in the east wing. The singing heard on stormy nights. The dark figure that prowls the corridors and the woods by the park, thinning the packs of rabbits that live there. The woman sinking into the lake. Yes, I can see by your eyes that you know of what I am speaking.

Her name is Andromeda Ashton. She lived here many years ago, when the house was an open and happy place. She was the darling petted baby daughter of older parents, born when her elder siblings were almost grown and had thought their parents were passed the age of engendering children. Her eldest sibling, Henry, was already well into his first year at Cambridge, her sisters away at school. The closest brother in age was Edward, seven years older than she, a quiet and thoughtful boy.

Now, because she was the baby, and in no small part because she was a beautiful, intelligent little thing, Andromeda was given license to behave in ways that were most unusual for a girl of her class in that time. She had a governess and a tutor, learned Greek and Latin from childhood, and could always be found prowling the family Collection or reading books by great explorers and renowned antiquarians. By the time she was eighteen, Andromeda was widely considered to be one of the brightest Ashtons for a generation. What a shame, people said, that she was not a boy and could then use that pretty head of hers. What a shame such remarkable intelligence was all for naught.

They need not have feared, for Andromeda had plans for making her mark upon the world, in the form of her family’s Collection. She may not be allowed to attend Cambridge like her brothers or study theology like Edward, but she was allowed and encouraged to contribute something to the Collection. And it would be more than just her portrait, which showed a slim, wind-pale girl with dark hair and eyes, gazing at the painter with a fiery intensity. No, Andromeda had not spent her life reading the tales of antiquarians for nothing.

Now dearie, you know that there are many stories of ghosts and legends in these parts. The hills are as dotted with stories as they are with sheep. On the eve of her nineteenth year, Andromeda began to collect them. With her father’s blessing and the help of her former governess, a project was begun: to compile the county’s folktales. It was no small task. For months, Andromeda could be seen riding from farm to farm, speaking to laborers and landowners alike, and writing down their stories. The Crone of Tetley. The Wailing Well of St. Edmund’s. The Fenbury Witch. She recorded them all, never realizing that she herself would one day become such a whispered story.

“I don’t know how you sleep at night, after hearing these tales,” her mother said once.

Andromeda smiled. “They are not true, Mother! They’re silly superstitions that came about because people in the past had no learning. People tell stories to ascribe meaning to what they do not understand, that’s all. There’s no truth to them.”

This, my dear, was Andromeda’s firm belief: that superstition had given way to science, and that all the ghostly tales of the past, while amusing and interesting, had a rational explanation. It was to be her undoing.

Now, as is sometimes the case with amateur antiquarians, Andromeda began to be curious as to the truth behind these stories. There was one in particular that caught her fancy, and that was of the Chalice of Tilbury St. Bartholomew. What’s that? The what? I knew you would ask; it’s certainly not talked about anymore. Not since-no, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The story goes like this: centuries before, at the time the plague first appeared in England, there was an alchemist who thought he could escape the illness by coming to the countryside. And where did he come? Why here, of course. Tilbury St. Bartholomew, though in those days the name was rather different. It was whispered that this gentleman-I use that term lightly, for he was no such thing-continued his strange experiments in his cottage, and that he not only practiced alchemy, but the dark arts as well. You’re skeptical, I see. So was Andromeda. What were considered the dark arts then is known as science now, of course. But for all that, the villagers were afraid of him. It was said that he conjured devils, and that one such devil was contained in a silver cup he kept with him in his bedroom, ready to do his master’s bidding. Village maidens dreamed of a dark shape coming into their beds at night, bending over them and stroking their hair. The alchemist leered at them in church on Sundays, leading to speculation that his demon was kept for the hunting of women. Unease and unrest grew in the village, yet the alchemist continued his work unmolested.

But when the plague finally came to Tilbury St. Bartholomew-for no part of the country was left untouched-the villagers said it was the judgments of God upon them for allowing an evil sorcerer to live unhampered in their midst. The alchemist was dragged from his home and burned at the stake. The village maidens breathed sighs of relief, for though the plague raged about them, the dark creature came to their chambers no more. The alchemist’s cottage was burned, too, and the silver chalice was lost. No one knew what became of it.

Andromeda, though, had her suspicions. She was a learned young lady, and figured that there had to be some record somewhere of a necromancer and his effects. I don’t know what sort of research she did, but one summer evening, when her brother Edward was visiting from his Cambridge seminary, she asked him to ride out with her. No one knows where they went, but when they came back, Andromeda looked quite pleased, and shortly thereafter presented an ancient silver goblet to the family.

Why did she want it, you ask? Why, if such demonic stories were attached to the thing, would a young lady wish to bring such an object into her home? Come, child, haven’t you been listening? Andromeda was not a believer in such things as demons. She was an active and intelligent young lady, and it rankled that she could not use her brains to their fullest capacity. A book was all very well and good, you see, but a treasure such as this cup was a real asset to the Collection, and it gave her a measure of fame, besides. She wrote the card for it herself. Silver chalice, English, circa 1330. What a find! Everyone in the family and many people outside of it admired the discovery.

All of this is common knowledge. You can find Andromeda’s book in any bookshop in the county, and the local historians will tell you about the silver goblet. They will also tell you that the goblet has been lost under strange circumstances, and when pressed for an answer, they will sigh and tell you it was a great tragedy. For you see, darling, very few people know exactly what happened to the Ashton family in the months following Andromeda’s discovery.

Most of what I know comes from Edward’s personal diaries, and they are to be treated with much caution. He lost his mind that year, you know. But I think he was saner than anyone knew.

Nothing went right for the Ashtons after Andromeda’s discovery. First Mrs. Ashton, who had never been strong after the birth of her daughter, succumbed to illness, soon followed by Mr. Ashton, so that Henry, the eldest son, living in London, found himself head of the family. That was in September. Then there began to be problems with the livestock. Horses went mad, sheep began to die for seemingly no reason, and the gamekeepers reported outrageous amounts of dead rabbits and birds in the woods. The servants began to complain that tricks were being played upon them, for it seemed as though they were being pinched and grabbed at by unseen hands. Edward recorded in the days that followed his mother’s funeral, was the sense of being watched when you knew you were alone, of a cold breath at the back of your neck, the creak of a chair that only creaked when sat in. There was a presence in the house, he said, and everyone knew it. But no one spoke of it.

Andromeda was not spared. Alone in her room at night, as she lay in bed, she felt the gentle caress of fingers across her cheek, in her hair, running over her body, cold as a breath of winter air. She told herself that she only imagined the icy kisses on the back of her neck, on her shoulders and breastbone. They were the products of a fevered mind, surely, imaginations brought about by grief at the death of her parents. She ignored the caresses. What’s that, darling? She must have been very brave? Yes, or very foolish.

By late November, the events had become too real to ignore. When serving tea to visitors, Andromeda would feel whispery fingers on her thighs, and moments later her stockings would loosen as her garters untied themselves. Something tugged her hair as she brushed it, or grasped her hand as she reached for a pen. At night, the sensation of someone cuddling close to her became unbearable, until she jumped for a light, gasping. And then she would hear it: a soft, cold laugh.

At last, after one such night, Andromeda swallowed her pride and told Edward what was happening. He was a priest, or nearly so; of course he would help her.

“It has only been since we brought home my goblet that this has happened,” she told him as they walked through the portrait gallery. “But artefacts cannot truly contain demons. Can they?”

Edward rubbed his hand through his hair, eyes straying to Andromeda’s portrait, swinging in its frame against the far wall. “We cannot know what devilry a sorcerer can conjure when he goes against God. I fear we made a mistake in unearthing that cup, Meda.”

“What must we do?”

“We must put it back where it was. As soon as possible.”

They agreed that Edward would write to one of his teachers, Reverent Dr. Padgett, to come assist them in exorcising the demon. The letter was duly dispatched. The reply came by telegram the next morning: Dr. Padgett would arrive that evening on the six-thirty train. They would commence their business immediately.

That afternoon, Andromeda asked the servants to leave the house for the night. She found them eager to do so. None of them liked to say how relieved they were to be away from the house and its unseen occupant. At half past six, the head footman was dispatched to the station to collect Dr. Padgett. In the back of the carriage was his own trunk, for he had no intention of remaining alone with the family in the house once he had safely delivered the doctor. It was a cold, windy evening, and later he said that his master and mistress could not have picked a worse night to be alone in that house.

All of this is fact; you can find the records in the village police archives, if you’ve a mind to. But what I’m about to tell you know, darling, are the words of a madman. You see, the only two people who know what happened in that house are Andromeda and Edward, and the latter was in no fit state to speak coherently of what happened for some months afterwards. Besides, his tale was dismissed by doctors and magistrates alike as being too unbelievable to come from a sound mind.

What Edward said was this: believing that Padgett would soon arrive, he and Andromeda set about making preparations for the exorcism. The house was empty, but the air around them seemed heavy, oppressive. As there were no servants to light the lamps, they sat in near-darkness. Their black mourning clothes must have made the scene even darker. Once or twice, Edward felt as though something touched the back of his neck, but there was no one there but Andromeda, sitting on the sofa by the window, peering out into the windy dusk.

“Perhaps we should bring the cup here,” she said, at last. “Perhaps Dr. Padgett will be willing to go out with us immediately.”

“Certainly,” said Edward. “Shall I go for it?”

“No.” Andromeda stood, smoothing her black skirts. Edward says that her hands were shaking. “I feel certain it has to be me.”

Though neither of them said it, the fact hung in the air that Andromeda was the one to have meddled in what she should not. Still, Edward, being a kind soul, rose from his seat and put her arm through his.

“We will go together. Come now, little sister, chin up. Everything will be all right.”

The silver cup was in one of the many rooms that housed the Collection, deep in the bowels of the cold house. I’ll show it to you one day, if you like, through the window. Night was falling fast as they walked through the halls, the strong wind driving dark clouds before it as it screamed around the manor. The lamp in Edward’s hand flickered in the draught, and his diary says that it was with some relief that they gained the Collection rooms. Leaving Andromeda by the door, Edward moved across the room to light the lamps, thinking to bring some cheer to the evening, if cheer were at all possible.

It was as he was lighting the lamps that Edward heard the screams. He ran to the door to see Andromeda lying in the corridor, beating at something unseen with both hands. He ran to assist her and all at once found himself picked up and flung back into the room he had come from. Undaunted, he picked himself up and made to run to his sister, only to again be thrown down by the unseen creature. It must have been terrible, fighting such a force while Andromeda’s shrieks echoed through the halls. Edward says that she twisted this way and that as though grappling with something. He made for her a third time--and this time, Andromeda was thrown down on the floor, gasping, and the thing, the monster, the demon, grabbed Edward by the neck and dragged him back into the Collection room. He was sure it would kill him. But it did not. A moment of white hot pain, and Edward found himself pinned to the floor with an arrow through the leg. Where the dart came from, he did not know. He could not move. Apparently satisfied that the young priest would prove no further nuisance, the thing returned to Andromeda. Helpless, crying with pain and horror, Edward heard his sister’s screams renew, growing more and more awful until they were drowned by a low, terrible laugh. Then there came the sound of a body dragging, and Andromeda’s shrieks faded as she was carried away.

Dr. Padgett, arriving an hour later, found Edward, alive but in a terrible state. Having asked his driver to wait at the door, Padgett was able to send for a medical doctor, and a search was made for Andromeda. It did not take them long to find her, for though the wind continued to buffet the county, there was no rain. You know where they found her, of course, my dear, for you can see her there still, some nights. She was in the lake, just under the water, her dark hair a loose cloud around her, her heavy black frock covered in hundreds of tiny gashes, her shoes and stockings gone. Her eyes were closed, her skin bleached of color in the green water. She was quite dead.

For months afterwards Edward screamed in the night, howling that the monster had come for him. Certainly in the mornings he was covered in scratches that had not been there the day before. A team of doctors agreed that his mind had been shattered by his sister’s murder, for they did not believe that anything but a mortal man could have done such a vicious thing to the Ashton children. The best thing for him, they told Henry, was to retire to the coast in the care of a nurse. And so Edward never returned to Ashton Hall.

And the cup that had started the horror? Dr. Padgett conducted a search for it, but it was nowhere to be seen, though Edward swore it was in the room when they were attacked. No one knows what became of it. Perhaps it had gone, and the demon with it. I see the doubt in your eyes, dearest, and I have to agree with you.

Ever after, the servants whispered that there was something still haunting the rooms and corridors of the hall, and the gardeners swore they saw Andromeda slipping out of the lake on icy winter nights. Henry’s family certainly never felt comfortable in the Hall, and so it was shut up. And so it has remained for these eighty years, and who knows if we will ever return to live in it? But one thing I know for certain: on nights when the wind blows and the moon is dark, shapes can be seen moving in the windows of the Hall. And out in the lake, a dark-haired Victorian lady floats just underneath the water. Watching. Waiting.

#original fiction #my writing

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heyitsaloy · 3 years

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how bout 3 and 14 for the three ship? :)

♥ @reachfolk

MSo, this is great. It really helped me put in perspective how I see my characters. Everything below the cut.

Possible triggering content surrounding infertility.

Also, possible spoilers for The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

For Kerre and Gratoth

3. Do they see kids in their future?

Kerre is honestly a bit terrified of the prospect of having children, it's not that she doesn't want them. It's the fact that she has made so many enemies - the Dark Brotherhood, vampires, the followers of Nocturnal, Miraak's cultists, the Thalmor, the Thieves Guild to an extent, and the Stormcloaks. Along with a multitude of other people who really want Kerre dead. Gratoth, on the other hand, wants children, but she respects Kerre’s boundaries. After a few years, Gratoth manages to convince Kerre to move to Wrothgar, specifically Orsinium, and they open up an orphanage there. So, even though they don’t have kids per se, they consider all the orphans at their orphanage, called the Flockhawk Orphanage Sanctum, their children. In a way, they do have kids.

14. What things about their s/o that makes them think their s/o is the one for them?

For Kerre, it’s the fact that Gratoth helped her calm down from a panic attack at the Thalmor Embassy. (More about this to be posted once I finish the HC’s for them). So that made Kerre feel like she could trust Gratoth, and for a bonus, Gratoth didn’t care she was the Dragonborn, she liked Kerre for who she was an individual.

For Gratoth, it was that Kerre is quick to defend her family and friends, no matter what. Although, she believes Kerre to be fatalistic at times, so she worries about her health. Gratoth literally is the one to make Kerre take breaks, saying that the world can stay safe-ish long enough for her to relax.

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For Kirati and Aliin

3. Do they see kids in their future?

Kirati wanted children and Aliin wanted them as well. She had four kids, two sets of twins - identical girls - Atmeda and Liritte, and fraternal boys - Simeus and Manar. Unfortunately, she wasn’t there to see them grow up, shortly after giving birth to Simeus and Manar, Atmeda and Liritte was born the year before, she was dragged into Evergloam by Nocturnal. Aliin was left to raise the children by himself, but he devoted his remaining years to telling their children stories of their mother, and looking for her.

14. What things about their s/o that makes them think their s/o is the one for them?

Kirati fell in love with the redheaded Breton because he was the first one to see she was struggling. Kirati had come to the temple of Kynareth to see if she could get help with her nightmares. She struggled with them following the months of Martin’s sacrifice and the final battle. Aliin was a priest of Kynareth who had devoted his life to helping others.

Aliin fell in love with Kirati after months of getting to know her, and helping her come to turns with her past. He vowed to always be by Kirati’s side no matter what the fates had in store for them.

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For Daviya and Lylan

3. Do they see kids in their future?

Daviya never thought about having kids before. As she was turned into a vampire at a young age, 23, and didn’t believe that it was possible to be cured. Once she arrived in Skyrim looking for Kerre, she met Lylan. Lylan literally changed her perspective, but she couldn’t cure herself just yet. She had to find Kirati. It took five years to find Kirati and save her, but once Daviya was done with that, she went with Lylan to Morthal for a cure. After being cured, Daviya and Lylan went on to adopt children from Honorhall Orphanage, because it was discovered Daviya couldn’t have children due to being a vampire for so long. It was there that they adopted Runa Fair-Shield and Hroar.

Lylan was excited when Daviya cured herself, and talked about wanting children with him. He was like a child at Christmas. He was also the first one to comfort her, once she found out that she couldn’t have biological children. So, he suggested adoption, and was happy when Daviya wanted to go through with the adoption process.

14. What things about their s/o that makes them think their s/o is the one for them?

Daviya believes that Lylan was the one for her, after he renounced the Thalmor for how they treated Kerre. (Kerre was, at one point, held captive by the Thalmor) He was the one who developed a plan to go rescue her, which made Daviya believe that he cared more for others than what the Thalmor wanted him too. Also, Lylan’s sense of humor, even if it’s dad level jokes.

Lylan believes that Daviya was for him, when they first met. She had saved him from a necromancer and their undead thralls. He was, at first, disgusted that Daviya was a vampire, believing her to be a menace to society. Over time, as he got to know her, he realized all that she wanted to do was find her sister, Kirati, and protect her descendant, Kerre. It surprised him that such a coldblooded being, would be so caring and overprotective.

Sorry that this is so long, but once I got to writing, a bunch of ideas came flooding through. I hope that you enjoy getting to know them a bit more!

#tw: infertility #skyrim #oblivion #elder scrolls #kerre and gratoth #kirati and aliin #Daviya and lylan #ari answers #lynlys #reachfolk

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ninjakitty15 · 3 years

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Chapter 5: A Basic Witch (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"So archery, huh? Let me guess, you were born in the wrong century."

Clint glanced back at me while flying Tony's "borrowed" flying thing I wasn't quite sure was a plane or jet. "You might actually be worse than Tony with those quips of yours."

"You love it really," I teased.

"Love is a strong word, I tolerate it...moreso with a raise."

I cackled. "They not paying you enough to put up with me? Gotta feed the kids somehow though, right? Have you thought about being a hooker, they're always hiring."

"Do you want him to shoot you?" asked Loki though he had a smirk on the entire time I was bugging Clint.

"I could keep talking but then I took an arrow to the knee," I jested. "Not quite the ring I was hoping for there."

"You know, I read about you people," Clint commented.

"What do you mean 'you people'?"

"Necromancers. Don't you normally require certain things to do what you do? Google images suggest you need a staff at the very least."

I snorted but also took out my new smartphone Tony was nice enough to give me and looked up what people thought necromancers looked like, allowing Loki to see what I see as well. "We also apparently only wear black attire and wear bone jewelry. Really? That's still a stereotype? Bone jewelry? Okay some voodoo practitioners might wear that for shock value but it doesn't have any real purpose and more important is super fucking tacky. We're already made of bones, why do we need more and why wear them on the outside if we need more, they're brittle as fuck, especially if they're old. This is where you got your info from, Clint?"

"Not exclusively," he tried to recover.

"So I'm expected to wear the least practical attire and accessories all time? You any idea how much I stick out looking like Skeletor's little sister here without wearing all black all time while dragging some long metal or wood staff like I'm Sarumon summoning orcs against Rohan. Sure I might blend in well enough at night in all black but the stealth is gone with all the bone jewelry rattling with each movement. Let's just throw some chains in there too, I'm sure they won't see me coming then. Seriously, who comes up with this bullshit? When you caught Loki, did you ask if he gave birth to a horse too?"

"You don't think I did?" Loki responded in amusement while snatching my phone and scrolling through all the depictions of what people thought I'd look like.

"From what I'm told, your adoptive father is too arrogant and vain to ride a horse you created."

"Clever girl. You are correct, that is a myth created to deface me more than they already have. Surprisingly he didn't ask me anything, too busy plotting my death after I got in his head."

"Someone's a sore loser," I mused under my breath so only Loki could hear me. "We there yet? And did you find any actual facts about 'my people' or just what the internet told you?"

"We're nearly there....and I'll let you know when I do," Clint muttered.

"We used to need instruments like a staff or something to be fair," I told Loki quietly. "But they are an eyesore for everyone and can easily get lost, stolen, or broken so we adapted and found another way to channel power. You need three things typically, well two now but at one point it was a staff to channel, a jewel to draw from and collect, and a blade to end it all."

"You don't have any of those though, do you? You were found with just what they told you to wear and what powers you had in you. They didn't..."

"You need to be a necromancer to even know what to do with those three let alone wield them for their intended purpose but no, never had a staff for obvious and previously listed reasons. My blade is kept hidden until I need it which thus far I haven't, as for the jewel...that's hidden elsewhere as well." I stopped at a fanart pic of a necromancer wearing all three items in an over the top armored black robe surrounded by bones. "Well that's just pretentious. Who goes around wearing everything they need to gain the upper hand out for all to see?"

"What about that one? I could see you wearing that," Loki purred, pointing to one necromancer woman wearing a cloak and more or less a black leather bikini while raising a skull above her.

"I bet you could, I wouldn't be caught living in that, nice try."

"Alright, we're here as requested, everyone out of my jet," Clint called back to us.

I opened my mouth to point out it was once again Tony's plane but Loki just held up a hand and shook his head, sometimes it was better to just roll with it. "You've damaged his ego enough, let him dream a little." The plane landed in a park that had been conveniently shut off from the public, probably Tony's doing and we hopped out. I took one long deep breath and smiled at scent of fresh salty sea air and a little bit more. Loki stepped out behind me, in his ironically all black suit in place of armor or leisure robes but he didn't seem to stick out in them, just rocked them like a death metal band, hardcore.

"You feel that?" I murmured under my breath so Clint wouldn't know what we were talking to.

"You're right, there is something otherworldly about this place, something strong but subtle."

"Alright you two, I'll be watching you but won't get in your way unless I have to, go and explore Salem," Clint informed us.

I grinned and lead Loki into the heart of witch city. I took him to all my favorite little shops, both the tourist traps and the legit ones where wiccan things are sold, to some of the museums, explained more of the city's history and how it became a safe haven for those with magic in their blood. Eventually we stopped by where the final resting place of the victims were, the memorial stones that often had fresh flowers resting on so they'd never be forgotten. It was empty beside myself, Loki, and the dead so I dropped to my knees then in front of the small stone gated graveyard, my hands digging into the ground to feel for any unrest and breathed out. Let those who linger rest easy and those with unrest tell me how I can help. My eyes shot open completely white as the unquiet spirits came forward. I could feel Loki watching me from where he stood some feet back but kept my attention to the unseen souls asking for peace. When I did all I could for them, my eyes faded back to their normal murky color and I slowly stood up and brushed myself off, signalling Loki to walk over and beside me.

"All of these people were innocent?" he asked me quietly.

"This wasn't about actual magic, this was about fear and power, this is what you get when you mix religion and politics, the innocent burn while the guilty rises."

"And now people celebrate here what their ancestors were accused of."

"I like to think of it as saying fuck you, we are the children of witches you didn't burn."

"Brilliant," he breathed out. "You're right, I do like this place already."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right, the sooner you accept it, the happier we'll both be for it."

Loki chuckled but didn't disagree. "When did you find out about this place?"

"As a kid, everyone's taught about the Salem Witch Trials in school, we were then driven there for a field trip like this to see for ourselves. There's many places of magic in America, but this is my absolute favorite place ever. This is my home." I paused mid stroll, took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and opened my arms, welcoming the wonders of witch city.

"Do you hear a high pitched squealing noise?" murmured Loki while watching me embrace my inner witch.

I didn't get a chance to reply as I was suddenly knocked several feet to the side and off my own feet by a pair of boobs with arms attached them engulfing me. "You're alive!" a familiar voice cried in joy.

"Not for much longer if you keep that up," I grumbled, stumbling back onto my feet and straightening up to meet a more familiar face. I was then hugged again and then roughly shaken around almost angrily. "Not everything you love is a fucking cocktail, stop shaking me!"

"Where the hell have you been, woman? We all thought you were killed off or burnt yourself out like the ones that went missing! You left without warning, no calls, no texts, not even a damned email I would've accepted, not a damned thing!" the tall Louisianan woman shaking me around exclaimed.

"Would you believe I was away on business?"

"Your business is here, try again."

"Attacked by ninjas?"

"This ain't feudal Japan."

"Chuck Norris with a bbgun?"

She just glared at me with her hands on her hips tapping a foot impatiently.

"Hydra got me midflight back home."

"Fo realz? How'd they know?"

"Someone had to have tipped them off, I used my aliases the entire time, kept low profile, all that jazz."

She had to sigh and drop the frown in acceptance and squeezed me hard again. "It has been soooo boring without you causing trouble around here, are you back for good?"

I picked up the frown she dropped and shook my head sadly. "Day trip, didn't get out of Hydra on my own, out of the fire and into the frying pan."

"By who?"

I glance back at Loki who was closely watching the two of us, not sure if she was friend or foe to him and the team. "Avengers plus one."

"So that's why it's been boring, you took all the fun with you and didn't think to share, as always."

"Bitch I ain't your source of entertainment, get your own damn rescue team."

"Sharing is caring."

"Do you see the care on my face?"

"I missed your face, can you believe that? I got addicted to IZombie just so I could see someone that looked like you."

"Not the first show I got you hooked on, I regret nothing there."

"Your face though..." she now turned her attention to the god watching from the sidelines. "You're not from around these parts, are you?"

"Where I'm from has been completely destroyed," he replied stiffly.

"Didn't you try to take New York City ages back?"

Before Loki could defend himself, I decided to step in. "Let she who is without a body count, cast the first stone."

"What? I'm not judging, I don't like NYC either but you are the same guy right? God of mischief and alien invasions?"

"I might be," Loki spoke up. "And who are you that seems to know Nell so well."

"I'm her best friend, Zari."

Something clicked in my head about what she said moment earlier then and before more introductions were made, I spoke up. "Hold up, they burnt out?"

Zari blinked and recalled what I brought up and arched an eyebrow. "When they were found they were shells and around their remains was all dead, that has to be it, they burnt out like overrused acid leaking batteries."

"All of the missing?" I murmured.

"All except you...what are you thinking?"

"My zombie senses are tingling. This doesn't feel like a coincidence, that's doesn't feel like an accident either. How many of us are left?"

"A fourth of what we started as."

"We're becoming an endangered species."

"You always wanted to be a tiger as a kid, now you got something in common with them besides a body count."

I scowled or attempted to, I did love tigers after all. "Hunted to near extinction wasn't what I had in mind."

She snickered and glanced at the amused god before returning her attention back to me. "So here for today at least, you show him all the cool places I hope."

I pretended to look offended and held a hand to my chest. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"Either way, there's a few places you missed that I'm sure you'd love to see," she nudged me with a wicked look in her eyes and I instantly knew what she meant.

"By all means, lead the way."

She took us to a small cafe she worked at that actually had a hidden passage way underneath the kitchen and leading to the Hawthorne Hotel, away from Clint's prying eyes for once so we all settled down in a nice suite permanently reserved under Zari's name. There we caught up and explained stuff to Loki we trusted him but not the Avengers with...for reasons. Zari was actually more a witch or voodoo priestess, not as powerful or naturally gifted as a necromancer but still pretty damn dangerous with her own form of death magic.

"Barton probably called in the cavalry in our absence," Loki muttered. "We should return to the open before the Avengers ruin the day again."

"We probably should, would hate for them to ruin my happy place. We should go somewhere public and totally open so they look like idiots before they yell at us though," I suggested.

"That can be arranged easy enough, well done. Zari, it has been a pleasure."

"Look after her, Loki. And Nell...don't let the bastards get you down," she reminded me.

I grinned. "Nevah." I took Loki's outstretched hand once more and green mist swirled around us before we popped up by a bench looking out at the sea by the Waterfront Hotel. I smiled again and didn't let go of his hand, I could feel the ocean then, feel the sun, the sea, everything that drew me to it before I died. "Some day," I murmured.

Loki gave my hand a squeeze and didn't let go as well but kissed the top of it. "I'll make sure of it. Here they come."

Right on cue, Clint followed by Nat and slightly annoyed Steve jogged over to us, all looking different shades of unhappy. We both turned and looked at them innocently while Clint breathed a sign of relief, Nat just rolled her eyes at us, but of course the do-gooder Steve looked like a father about to reprimand his child for sneaking out the window after being grounded.

"You know, while we were hunting you down, I gotta say, this place has its charms," Nat noted.

"Of course it does, can't be a witch without some," I informed her. "Who here likes seafood?"

Steve opened his mouth most likely to lecture me on staying in sight but bless Clint for thinking with his stomach after a long boring day of watching me and Loki frolic around town. His hand shot up almost as fast as his arrows shoot forward so I led the little team to the Oyster Bar by the Waterfront. "Ah food, my second favorite four letter F word."

Eventually it was time to return to homebase as the gang led us back to the jet and I found myself surprisingly worn out from the day of fun, leaning against Loki on the ride back. I found myself too tired to walk out myself when we landed and Loki immediately scooped me up and carried me out of the jet and into the main building himself. My eyes got heavier each second but somehow I could still hear what was going on.

"Clint tells me he lost sight of you two for a bit, you care to explain that?" Tony was demanding.

"Do I care to? Not really since you asked. He got distracted by one of the local performing street witches most likely, did you know theres one going around in full witch garb on rollerblades? Very amusing to say the least," Loki replied smoothly.

"Oh I'm aware Salem is full of weirdoes."

"Which is exactly why you weren't invited, you boring old fart," I muttered, burying my head against Loki's chest to try and drown out their voices only for Loki to laugh against me.

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady," mused Tony. "I'll have you know I've been voted the world's most interesting man many times."

"And Trump's been voted for president, votes here don't mean shit so you're bragging rights right now are kinda in the crapper."

"Go back to sleep."

I turned to face him in Loki's arms just to stick my tongue out but curled back into Loki after. "Have a good night, don't let the zombies bite."

#lokifanfiction #lokifanfic #avengers #lokixoc #loki x original female character #lokixNell #nell the necromancer #necromancy #loki romance

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